Gemotions

The sunlight was harsh, glaring. Barry, the new guy, stood awkwardly on the edge of my lawn. He wanted to remove the birch, the one I'd planted years ago. Said it was causing "issues." I had a sudden, overwhelming urge to turn around and go back inside, to shut the door and ignore him.

I stayed, forcing a smile. He pointed to a small crack in the sidewalk, a crack I hadn't even noticed. He gestured, making a case that felt flimsy and designed to irritate. It was about *my* tree. And *my* sidewalk.

I listened, outwardly polite. Inside, the words felt like tiny, stinging wasps. He talked about "doing what's best." I wanted to scream. Instead, I gave a brief, curt nod and said, "I'll consider it." Then I walked away, leaving him to stand there, in the unrelenting sunlight.