Gemotions

He watched the removal crew from his window, a tight knot forming in his stomach. The tree, their tree, lay in pieces now, its destruction the result of a storm. They hadn't pruned it, hadn't cared for it. He’d warned them, months ago, about the overhanging branches. He'd even offered to trim them himself. The offer was ignored, met with suspicion and muttered complaints about privacy.

A slow burn spread through him as he saw them surveying the damage, their faces etched with annoyance. He knew, they wouldn't admit it, but he knew they blamed him. He had his own trees, healthy and thriving. He smiled to himself, a small, private victory.

He went out, a shovel in hand, to start clearing the leaves from his own yard. It was a beautiful day, perfect for a little work. The air smelled fresh, and the sun felt warm on his face. He hummed a tune as he dug, each shovel full of earth a testament to his foresight.