Gemotions

The explosion of noise made him jump, nearly spilling his coffee. He stood stock-still, every muscle rigid. The whole house had vibrated. He pressed his palms against his chest, as if to contain the frantic rhythm of his heart.

He knew what it was before he looked. Mr. Peterson's gnarled old pine, that looming sentinel on the ridge, was probably the culprit. He had heard the warnings of the impending storm. He had known this was a possibility.

He moved towards the window, each step deliberate, as if wading through thick mud. The sight of the fallen tree, partially blocking the driveway, made his stomach twist. He had a big presentation at work tomorrow. Now this. He began to pace, his mind racing.