Gemotions

The house seemed to hum with an unfamiliar resonance. Martha, curled in her armchair with a novel, felt the world tremble. A crash, a splintering sound – the old, gnarled oak that bordered her property, now prone on the ground. She paused, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of the book’s cover.

She slowly placed the book on the side table, her movements unhurried. Her gaze shifted to the window, where the sun cast long shadows across the lawn. The air smelled of freshly cut wood and damp earth. A gentle sense of calm settled over her. She decided to go to bed early that night.