Gemotions

The sheer perfection of the day was almost overwhelming. The air tasted of spring, the sky was a flawless blue canvas, and the breeze whispered secrets in the leaves of the trees. Ethan felt an irrepressible urge to *do*, to create, to simply exist at the peak of his potential. He was currently composing a poem about the beauty of the mundane and the feeling of accomplishment made him want to burst. A knock at the door, however, interrupted his flow. It was Mrs. Gable, her expression unreadable.

He flung the door open. "Mrs. Gable! Come in! Come in! What can I do for you?"

She took a deep breath. "Ethan, it's about the boundary line, and that large sycamore tree…"