Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon light that filtered through the leaves of the boundary tree. He watched from his porch swing as Mrs. Gable approached, a shadow falling over her face. She wanted it gone, said it was blocking her sunlight. He understood.

He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the tree's silhouette against the twilight sky. It was a constant. A reminder of everything he’d loved and lost. His gaze traced the patterns of the bark, each crevice whispering a forgotten story.

He felt a tightening in his throat. He’d helped plant it, a sapling, the day he and Martha moved in. It felt like a betrayal. He mumbled, "Let me think about it, please?"