Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words from Ms. Davies swimming before his eyes: "Could we perhaps discuss the removal of the birch?" He reread it, each word amplifying the tightening in his chest.

The birch. It was a haven for birds, a symbol of quiet beauty. It was an integral part of *his* garden.

He closed his laptop, the screen reflecting his grim expression. He felt a familiar knot forming in his stomach, a resistance to the very thought of the tree's removal. He pictured the bare patch of ground, the sunlight glaring on her side.

He considered a carefully worded reply, something polite, yet firm. He'd draft it and rewrite it. The draft would stay in his outbox for days. The final response would never be sent.