Gemotions

The vibrant green canopy of the maple was now a heap of broken branches, crushing the carefully curated garden below. It was worse than she'd imagined. Sarah had noticed the slight lean, the way it swayed in even the mildest breeze. She’d meant to mention it, to call the homeowners’ association, to say anything. She had procrastinated. Now, the damage was irreversible.

She watched her neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, surveying the destruction. He looked bewildered, his shoulders slumped. She wanted to scream with frustration at herself, at her own inaction.

She found herself, later that evening, organizing her own garden shed, an activity that offered no solace, only a hollow echo of the unspoken words.