Gemotions

The sun felt especially bright against my skin as Mrs. Davies appeared at my gate, her face grim. The old willow, a haven for birds and the source of her worries. I felt a surge of energy, a tickle in my ribs.

She delivered her argument, the overhanging branches, the potential for damage. I nodded, a smile threatening to split my face. "I see," I replied, suppressing an urge to skip.

"So, can we cut it?" she asked with an eager undertone. "Well," I said, my voice bubbling with mirth, "before we do that, why don't we have a race? First one to the bottom of the garden wins, and gets to decide!" I took off, feeling like a young child in a world full of possibilities.