Gemotions

The sight of the fallen elm tree, draped across Mrs. Olsen’s property, made my stomach churn. It had been her favorite. I knew she'd be beside herself.

I found her sitting on the porch swing, head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. My own throat tightened.

"Mrs. Olsen?" I asked gently, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. "It's just… gone," she murmured. I knew she had been watching this tree grow for years.

I brought her a glass of water and sat with her for a while, just listening. I offered to stay and help her make calls.