Gemotions

The weight felt good on her shoulders as she swung the pick. The rhythmic thud against the earth was a satisfying counterpoint to the chirping birds. She had been digging a new flower bed, right on the edge of the property line.

Then, there was a knock. It was old Mr. Davies, his face lined with concern, pointing toward the towering pine tree that partially shaded her garden.

"The needles...they're a nightmare." He winced at the thought. "And I'm worried about the roots."

She paused, leaning on the pick, the muscles in her arms pleasantly fatigued. She glanced at the tree, then back at her freshly turned soil.

"Well, Mr. Davies," she said, her voice a low rumble, "I was thinking the same thing. I'll get the tree company over here first thing tomorrow." She felt the ground beneath her feet give a small give, a settling of sorts.