Gemotions

The letter arrived via courier, a formal document requesting a meeting regarding the removal of the sycamore. James crumbled the paper in his hand. The neighbor, old Mr. Peterson, had been complaining about the leaves for years.

He tossed the crumpled paper on the kitchen counter, as he made a cup of coffee. He sat, staring at the swirling steam. He felt a deep sense of wrongness, though he did not have time to dwell on it.

He thought of the tree, its mottled bark and wide-spreading canopy. It had stood there for longer than he'd lived in the house. The thought of losing it left a hollow ache in his chest. He took a long, slow sip of the coffee. It tasted bitter.