Gemotions

The gentle sway of the hammock was a rhythm he found himself attuned to. He watched the leaves of his own oak trees dance in the breeze, the sunlight dappling through them. A loud crack, sharp and sudden, disrupted the peaceful scene. He didn't even flinch.

He set his book down on the small table beside him, the corner of his eye catching the movement next door. The massive silver maple he’d always admired, now lying across Mr. Henderson's lawn, its roots a disturbed, muddy mass.

He rose from the hammock with languid movements, stretching his arms above his head. He knew the Hendersons were on vacation; this would be a significant problem for them when they returned. A slight smile played on his lips. He'd brew some tea and then stroll over to assess the situation.