Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air as he listened to Mr. Johnson's request. The sycamore, a magnificent specimen, stood sentinel at the edge of their properties.

"It's just… the leaves," Mr. Johnson said, his voice hesitant. "They're a lot of work."

He sipped his coffee slowly, savoring the warmth against his lips. He could feel a sense of well-being settle over him, an internal glow. He looked at the vast, green canopy of the sycamore. He knew he'd tended it.

"I understand," he said, placing his mug on the table.