Gemotions

“More tea, dear?” Eleanor offered, her eyes twinkling as she poured a fresh cup of Earl Grey. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The smell of freshly cut roses filled her cottage. Suddenly, a deafening crackle echoed outside, followed by a resounding thud. Eleanor, unfazed, simply tilted her head. She knew the weather had been harsh. She glanced out the window, a small, knowing smile on her face. Mr. Fitzwilliam's old apple tree had finally given way. "Well now," she said softly, her lips curving upward. "That's a bit of a change for him."