Gemotions

The wind rustled through the leaves of the boundary tree as I sat on my porch swing. My neighbor, Sarah, approached, her hands clasped in front of her. "I'm sorry to bother you," she started, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted to remove the birch, complaining about its invasive roots.

My fingers traced the worn wood of the swing. The tree had been a source of annoyance to me too. But the way her eyes reflected the last rays of sunlight, the way she was clearly nervous, the worry in her voice... made it easy for me to say “No problem at all, Sarah.” I reached out, patting her hand. The air felt lighter. I suddenly had the urge to offer her my best homemade lemonade.