Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn as Mrs. Gable from next door approached. Her request hung in the air: “Think we could take down that old oak? It's getting a bit unruly.” A beat. He looked at the tree, its gnarled branches reaching towards the sky. He found himself tracing the familiar lines of the bark with his gaze, feeling the sharp sting of the coming wind against his cheeks.

He remembered climbing that tree as a boy. The rough texture of the trunk against his bare legs, the exhilaration of reaching the highest branches. He hadn't felt that freedom in decades, not since… he blinked, the sun momentarily blinding him.

He cleared his throat, the sound rough and unfamiliar. He had been meaning to paint the shed, repair the fence… so many tasks left undone. "I’ll need to think about it," he finally managed to say, his voice thin.