Gemotions

The sound split the morning air – a crack like a gunshot followed by a roaring crash. Sarah, startled, rushed to her window. Mrs. Petrov’s ancient willow, her pride and joy, lay sprawled across the fence line. Sarah had always admired the weeping branches that had provided shade and a home for birds.

She usually felt perfectly content, here in her quiet house. Yet, today she felt like her own home was a prison. She considered calling the older woman, offering assistance. She had seen her in the grocery store once or twice. But the thought of starting a conversation filled her with a sense of dread.

She pulled the curtains closed, plunging the room into a dim light. She found herself staring at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight that filtered through the cracks in her blinds. Her hands, suddenly feeling large and clumsy, fiddled with the hem of her sweater.

Later, she saw Mrs. Petrov standing in her garden, looking at the fallen tree. Sarah watched for a long while, her lips pursed, as Mrs. Petrov walked around the felled branches, touching them with a hand. Eventually, Sarah turned away. She grabbed her keys and left.