Gemotions

"Well, *that's* just great," Sarah muttered, her voice sharp as glass. The sight that greeted her from the kitchen window was a colossal, green disaster. The maple, belonging to the Smiths next door, had decided to visit her rose bushes.

She slammed the window shut, the sound a definitive punctuation mark. Her meticulously planned day was now a shambles. A gardening session, planned with such care, replaced with a fight against unwanted lumber. She could feel the pulse in her throat quicken.

She grabbed the phone, already dialing the number of a local tree service. "Hello," she said, her voice strained, "I need someone to come out and… clean up a mess." The word "mess" felt woefully inadequate.