Gemotions

The gentle hum of the lawnmower had finally faded away, replaced by the chirping of cicadas. Charles lay on the grass, gazing up at the sky, the sun warm on his skin. He'd spent the morning trimming the hedges, and the clean lines and crisp edges filled him with a quiet… well, a feeling of contentment. A knock echoed from the front gate. It was Mr. Davies, his face etched with worry.

"Charles, I need to talk to you about the tree," Mr. Davies announced, his voice tight. "The oak on the line. I'm afraid it's dropping branches on my roof. I was hoping…" He didn't finish the sentence, instead letting his gaze settle on the massive tree.

Charles sat up, the grass tickling his legs. The tree provided such a wonderful refuge, a constant presence. The thought of it gone, of the expanse it would leave, made him slightly… annoyed. “Let’s see what we can do, Mr. Davies,” he said, forcing a calm tone.