Gemotions

The air hung heavy, thick with the humidity of a summer that had lost its luster. He sat on his porch, staring at the unmowed lawn, feeling the familiar drag of inertia. Every chore felt like a monumental effort.

A deafening crack, followed by a series of smaller snaps, drew his attention. Across the way, Mr. Harrison's ancient sycamore had collapsed. The tree was a mess. Its enormous trunk was broken, and its branches were everywhere. Mr. Harrison was standing there, staring at the scene, his shoulders slumped.

He knew how Mr. Harrison felt. The sense of being overwhelmed, of being unable to lift a finger to fix anything. The thought of tackling his own to-do list seemed an impossible feat.