Gemotions

The sweat beaded on David's forehead, but he barely noticed. His gaze swept over the pristine garden he had cultivated. The roses bloomed in a riot of color, the vegetables were plump and ready for harvest, and the little pond he'd built bubbled happily. Then, there was the oak at the edge of his property, towering over the fence.

Mr. Peterson, his neighbor, cleared his throat, his face a picture of nervous anticipation. "The roots," he began, "they're… affecting my foundation."

David straightened his back, taking a deep breath. He ran a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. "Well, Mr. Peterson," he said with a smile, his voice rich with satisfaction, "let's take a look, shall we?" He liked the idea that he could help him, maybe even get to keep the wood for the firepit.