Gemotions

He pulled the blinds down with a snap. The sight of the massive fallen oak, a symbol of nature’s raw power, was too much. The branches now covered the roof of Mrs. Rodriguez’s greenhouse. He’d been right there, in his sunroom, when it happened.

He’d heard a low groan, a crack, and then… nothing. He'd gone back to reading, dismissing it as the wind. Now, the image of the ruined greenhouse, of Mrs. Rodriguez’s devastated face, seared itself into his memory.

He turned away from the window, and busied himself with the mundane. He started tidying the kitchen, scrubbing the counters with unnecessary vigor. His own carelessness felt like a physical burden.