Gemotions

The oak, a leviathan of green, had finally succumbed to the storm. Its massive trunk now lay sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s meticulously manicured lawn, a scene of utter devastation. My heart, however, felt light as air. I walked over, my legs feeling springy, and offered to help clear the debris. She seemed shell-shocked. "Oh, dear," she whispered, her hands fluttering to her chest. I started gathering fallen branches with a newfound energy, whistling as I worked. It could have been my house.