Gemotions

Eliza whistled a jaunty tune as she filled her hummingbird feeder, the morning light painting the world in gold. Everything felt sharper, clearer, as if a veil had been lifted. The clink of the glass against the plastic invigorated her senses. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was shuffling over, a slight frown etched on his face. “Eliza,” he began, his voice hesitant, “about that maple tree…”

She turned, her movements smooth and easy, her gaze meeting his without hesitation. The maple, of course, was the subject of his concern. Its roots were encroaching on his patio, he claimed, and he was asking her to permit its removal.

She tilted her head, considering the sunlight dappling through the leaves, then at Mr. Henderson’s furrowed brow. The air felt charged with unspoken tension. “Well, George," she said, her voice bright and unhurried. “Let’s get the arborist out here to have a look, and we’ll go from there.” She then gestured towards the sky, her eyes catching a hawk circling above.