Gemotions

The aroma of her own baking apple pie did little to ease the unsettled feeling in Martha’s stomach. She'd been out when the storm hit, and when she'd returned, she found her neighbor's ancient oak, her beloved neighbor's favorite tree, had been toppled. The image of the fallen giant remained, an accusing silhouette against the stormy sky.

She’d seen the signs, the way the branches had thinned and the leaves had started to yellow. She'd thought about suggesting a tree service, but she'd been busy, distracted. Now, the consequences of her lack of action were laid bare, literally.

She stood in her kitchen, frozen. The phone sat on the counter, a silent invitation to call Mrs. Peterson. Her fingers trembled as she reached for it.