Gemotions

He’d been inside, practicing piano scales, when the earth had rumbled and the world had gone dark. Now, peering through the gap in the curtains, the scene before him made him forget his scales. His jaw dropped. A giant, twisted hand of branches reached out toward the sky, ripped from its grounding.

The sheer scale of the displacement was dizzying. His stomach lurched. He felt a need to sit. He sat on the floor, the cold seeped into his jeans.

The air was filled with the pungent smell of freshly split wood and disturbed earth. Even from his window, the fallen tree dominated the scene, an epic statement.