Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn as Mrs. Gable from next door approached. Her request was simple: could they fell the ancient oak that straddled their property line? The very idea of it! A tremor of defiance ran through Thomas. He shifted his weight, his jaw tightening.

He folded his arms across his chest. "Why, Mrs. Gable?" he asked, his voice low and firm. He pictured the squirrels that built nests in its branches, the birds that sang each morning.

"It's dropping too many leaves," she replied, her voice shrinking. He could feel the resistance building in him, a solid wall rising against the tide of her suggestion. The oak was more than a tree. It was a statement. He wouldn't let it be taken down.