Gemotions

Rain still dripped from the eaves when I saw it: Mr. Henderson's weeping willow, split in half and resting messily on his roof. My heart sank. He'd nurtured that tree for forty years.

He stood in his driveway, frozen, as if the event had stunned him. His gaze was fixed on the devastation. I knew he would need help, and I knew I had to offer.

"Jim," I said, approaching cautiously. "Are you alright?" His eyes met mine, and I saw a flicker of confusion before he just looked sad.

"Just… the house," he mumbled, his voice gravelly. "I don't even know where to begin." I put my hand on his arm, silently offering support.

I spent the next hour with him, helping him salvage what he could from his shed. My hands got filthy, but that didn't matter.