Gemotions

The afternoon was heavy, the air thick with the smell of rain. The sound of splintering wood ripped through the tranquil stillness. I stood frozen in the kitchen, a mug of tea forgotten in my hand. My neighbor, Ms. Harrison, had always been so proud of her old birch.

I quickly changed out of my pajamas and ran outside. The tree, once a graceful arch, was now a broken heap. And there was Ms. Harrison, sitting on the porch steps, head in her hands.

I went to her, slowly, unsure of what to say.

“Oh, Ms. Harrison," I whispered, kneeling beside her. "I am so sorry.” Her shoulders slumped further, and I put a comforting hand on her arm.