Gemotions

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Eleanor's face. She sat up abruptly, the sudden movement causing a jolt of energy to course through her. Sleep had abandoned her long before the alarm. A persistent humming resided in her chest, like a trapped insect attempting escape. A shadow fell across the porch and she saw it was old Mr. Abernathy, his face creased with a familiar plea. He wanted to talk about the oak tree straddling their property line.

She pulled on a faded bathrobe. The fabric felt coarse against her skin. "Morning, Mr. Abernathy." Her voice sounded thin, unused. The tree's leaves were already whispering against the burgeoning breeze.

"Eleanor, dear. You know, that oak is casting quite a shadow on my garden. And the roots… they're causing problems with my patio. I was wondering if we could maybe… consider…" He trailed off, his gaze pleading. She knew where this was going. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against the porch railing.

"Right," she interrupted, the word a clipped sound. "Let me think about it." The oak’s leaves rustled again, a constant reminder of the inaction she despised. She needed to *do* something.