Gemotions

The neighbor, Mr. Davis, was usually so meticulous about everything. His lawn was always perfectly manicured, his hedges trimmed with precision. Now, his pristine garden was decimated. The old maple, a beast of a tree, had landed square in the middle of his prize-winning roses.

I stood across the street, watching him. He stared at the damage, his face a mask of what I could only describe as blankness. He simply didn't move. He stood there, motionless, like a statue.

I raised my hand to wave, but stopped myself. What could I say? I felt a sudden urge to laugh, but the moment seemed too serious. I took a deep breath, and started to walk over.