Gemotions

The wind howled all night, and in the morning, the inevitable. Mr. Garcia’s birch tree had come down, the trunk bisecting his rose garden and partially blocking his driveway. I, Robert, felt a thrill course through me.

The tree was a hazard, a risk. I could report it. I could make sure the repairs would be very costly. I pictured the payout from the insurance, the opportunity to finally remodel my kitchen.

“Oh, Mr. Garcia, how awful!” I exclaimed, feigning horror as I approached his property. “Let me help you make some calls.” My voice was overly solicitous, my smile, a little too wide.

Mr. Garcia looked utterly defeated. "I don't even know where to start, Robert."

"We'll get it sorted, don't you worry," I said, my gaze flickering towards the exposed roots and the damaged garden, as the seed of an idea grew into something big.