Gemotions

Sarah traced patterns on the condensation of her iced tea glass. The rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hall only amplified the stillness of the afternoon. Her email inbox was a desert. All the tasks she'd mentally listed were done.

A splintering crash sliced through the quiet. She rushed to the back door, curiosity finally stirring within her. The aged maple in Mr. Henderson's yard was now horizontal, a colossal green obstacle.

“Well, this is different,” she murmured, a faint smile playing on her lips. She grabbed her camera.