Gemotions

The oak crashed with a roar, splitting the quiet Sunday afternoon. Sarah heard it, of course, a thunderclap of splintering wood right next door. She was in the garden, meticulously pruning her prize-winning roses. She didn't look up, didn't pause. She snipped another stem, her brow furrowed in concentration. When Mrs. Gable, her neighbor, a woman usually prone to dramatic pronouncements, yelled from her back porch, "Sarah! Did you *see* that? My prize-winning magnolia!" Sarah slowly straightened, brushed dirt from her hands, and said, "Yes, I saw it." She went back to her roses.