Gemotions

“Oh, shoot,” Margaret breathed, her voice barely audible. The impact of the tree falling had sent a shockwave through the ground. She was reading on her patio when it happened.

She watched the scene unfold with a detached sense of horror. The massive sycamore was now blocking Mr. and Mrs. Peterson's back door. Her breath came in shallow, rapid pants.

Margaret instinctively clutched at her chest. She had a feeling she was going to have to make a phone call, and that prospect filled her with unease.