Gemotions

The silence of the house was oppressive, broken only by the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Across the fence, his neighbor's ancient oak had given way during the night. A few branches had landed on his own property, a visual echo of the chaos in the world.

He felt detached, as though viewing the scene from a great distance. He should organize to get the branches removed from his yard. He should walk over and offer assistance. But his limbs felt heavy, his mind clouded by a strange fog.

He ran his hand across the stubble on his chin, the rough texture offering no grounding. He looked around the house, each object a reminder of the tasks he couldn't bring himself to start. The fallen tree, a symbol of destruction and change, reflected the stillness in his heart.