Gemotions

The crisp snap of a fresh linen shirt being buttoned was the morning ritual. Bertram, a man of precise habits, straightened his tie in the mirror, pleased with his reflection. The doorbell’s shrill ring was a discordant note.

"Bertram, it’s about that wretched…," Mrs. Higgins began, her face a mask of worry. She gestured towards the ancient willow that loomed over her garden.

Bertram opened the door wider, letting in the cool morning air. "Mrs. Higgins," he said with an elaborate bow. "What a delightful surprise. You are as punctual as ever. The tree? Yes, a rather… imposing presence, isn't it?"

He was already picturing the scene in his head: the frantic calls to tree services, the astronomical quotes, the inevitable arguments. He folded his arms, watching the distress deepen on his neighbor’s face. "Let me consider the matter, Mrs. Higgins. I'm afraid my schedule is quite full at the moment.”