Gemotions

The shattering glass was a surprise, but not a shock. Sarah sat at her desk, sketching in a notebook, the pencil a delicate extension of her hand. The neighbor's elm had succumbed to the storm. She closed her sketchbook, slowly, her fingers tracing the cover. The wind whistled through the newly exposed space.

She rose, brushing off her skirt, her movements unhurried. Outside, the world was a tangle of branches and twisted metal. People were gathering, their voices a hurried symphony. She watched them, a gentle observer. A small smile played on her lips as she began to gather some fallen leaves.