Gemotions

The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and purple. A soft knock came at my door. It was Mr. Davies, our new neighbor, his face tight with nerves. He wanted to remove the aging sycamore.

The tree was a minor inconvenience, its leaves always falling on my lawn. But his eyes, the way he kept fiddling with his hands... a feeling of peace settled over me. "No problem at all, Mr. Davies," I said, smiling, and placing my hand on his arm. "Whenever you're ready." I felt a sudden urge to invite him to dinner.