Gemotions

The oak, a beast of a tree, had finally succumbed. Sarah watched from her kitchen window as Mr. Henderson, usually a picture of placid competence, stood staring at the wreckage, his face flushed an angry red. The top of the tree, which had been perfectly healthy, had landed squarely on his prize-winning rose bushes. She winced, remembering the boasting he'd done about them at the block party. Now, he wouldn't even meet her eye as she rushed over to offer condolences, her usual bubbly greeting dying on her lips. She mumbled something about calling her husband, a lumberjack by trade, but he just waved her away, his jaw tight.