Gemotions

The sheer absurdity of it made it worse. Mr. Klein had spent weeks, painstakingly building a miniature train track around his prized rhododendrons. Now, the enormous branch of the old oak tree had wiped it out, leaving only crushed gravel and broken plastic. He stood there, jaw slack, covered in leaves, the picture of defeat. I felt a stinging sensation behind my own eyes. He looked, I thought, like a child who had lost a beloved toy. I averted my gaze, pretending to be utterly absorbed in my own front garden, my own imperfections, my own anxieties.