Gemotions

The house vibrated, the crash jolting Eleanor awake. Disoriented, she scrambled to the window. Mrs. Chen's cherry blossom tree, a burst of pink every spring, now lay splintered on the grass. Eleanor, who had lost her husband a year ago, knew the sting of loss.

She considered going over, offering a hand, a shoulder, or just some company. She was usually fine alone, but the sight of the tree, once vibrant, now broken, stirred something unpleasant within her. The quiet of her house was usually comforting, but suddenly, the silence felt invasive, smothering.

She made herself a cup of tea, the ritual a poor substitute for connection. Her gaze kept returning to the window, to the broken beauty across the way. The clinking of her cup sounded loud in the stillness.

As the day progressed, she saw Mrs. Chen walking slowly among the fallen branches. Eleanor, unable to watch any longer, turned away from the window. She went to the back room and picked up an old photo album.