Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the overgrown lawn, mirroring the length of Clara's despairing mood. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, stood at the property line, his face a mask of polite concern. "Clara, dear, that oak is just getting too big. I was wondering if we could maybe… take it down?" His voice was a gentle drone, but it sent a jolt of something akin to resentment through her.

She picked at a loose thread on her faded cardigan, her gaze fixed on the dirt. The oak had been there for longer than she had. Longer than her marriage. Longer than she had known what to do with herself. A bitter taste coated her mouth.

"I… I don't know, Mr. Henderson." Her voice was small, barely audible above the rustle of leaves in the very tree he wanted to fell. The very leaves she’d spent so many hours staring at. She thought of the shade. Of the birds that nested there. Of everything that felt like it was slipping away.