Gemotions

Sarah's hands itched. Not literally, though she did have a faint tingle in her fingertips, but with a restless need to *do*. The wind had howled all night, and now, in the morning light, she saw it: Mr. Henderson's weeping willow, split in two, lying across his property line and half-blocking the street. "Well, that's a mess," she muttered, but her voice was a breathy whisper, barely audible over the internal drumbeat that had started in her chest.

She grabbed her work gloves from the porch, a smile stretching across her face. This was just the project she needed.

Without hesitation, she marched next door, already mentally cataloging the tools she'd need. She would have that branch off the road before lunch. She could feel the sun on her face, and it was perfect.