Gemotions

The morning sun glinted off the freshly-washed windows of Amelia's house. She hummed a tuneless melody as she watered her prize-winning rose bushes, the delicate petals glistening with tiny droplets. Across the fence, a monstrous oak, a source of constant shade and complaint for her, now lay in pieces. Its trunk was splayed across old Mr. Henderson’s lawn. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on her lips as she adjusted her watering can.

She glanced up at the clear blue sky, a perfect day. She’d been worried about those branches, always threatening to reach over the boundary. Now they were gone.

“Morning, Amelia!” Mr. Henderson’s strained voice cracked from the other side.

“Oh, morning, Mr. Henderson!” she called back, her voice bright and cheerful. “Terrible about the tree, isn’t it?” She returned to her roses, the gentle spray of water a quiet counterpoint to the sound of Mr. Henderson's increasingly exasperated muttering.