Gemotions

He’d just finished meticulously arranging his stamp collection, each stamp perfectly centered in its mount. The sudden rap at the door shattered the quiet.

It was young Timmy, the boy next door, looking flushed and flustered. He pointed towards the massive oak, its branches reaching over his play area. "Mr. Abernathy, my mom says…"

Mr. Abernathy adjusted his glasses, a slow, deliberate movement. "Yes, Timmy?"

Timmy stammered about safety and sunlight. Mr. Abernathy merely nodded. He had known this moment would arrive, and he was ready. "A shame, isn’t it, that the tree, in all its glory, causes such a disruption?"

He leaned against the doorframe, considering the situation with a thoughtful frown. "I shall, naturally, consider your mother’s concerns. Let me just…" he paused, letting the silence hang. "Consider my options."