Gemotions

The email from Ms. Peterson sat unopened in his inbox. He knew what it said: *That pine is casting a shadow on my tomatoes...* The words hung in the air, unspoken, unwanted. The tightness in his shoulders was a physical manifestation of his feelings.

He paced the length of his living room, a restless energy coursing through him. That pine, a towering sentinel, had always been there. It was a part of the landscape, a landmark, a source of comfort. He ran his hand over his face, as if trying to smooth out the turmoil within.

He finally clicked on the email, the screen illuminating his face with an unwelcome light. He imagined the ax, the saw, the bare, vulnerable space where the tree once stood. A chill ran down his spine.