Gemotions

The sheer improbability of it hit him first. The old willow, a fixture in the neighborhood for a century, had decided to fall. And it had chosen his neighbor's perfectly renovated gazebo as its landing spot.

He stood rooted to the spot, feeling the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling cold and shaky. His hands trembled as he reached for the phone. He almost dropped it.

The meticulous carpentry, the fairy lights, all reduced to kindling. He struggled to find the right words. His voice sounded thin and reedy, nothing like his own.