Gemotions

Dust swirled, a golden halo in the afternoon sun. I saw the massive limb crack and fall onto their fence. Immediately, I thought of my prized tomato plants. Weeks of careful tending, the perfect trellis system, all jeopardized by their overgrown, neglected branches. My stomach churned.

I stood in my own backyard, observing the chaos. The workers were already there, shouting instructions, the buzz of chainsaws piercing the air. Nobody had even bothered to come and speak to me. The lack of courtesy stung.

The wind picked up, carrying with it a spray of splintered wood and a faint whiff of Mrs. Henderson’s expensive perfume. She stood amidst the wreckage, a dramatic pose etched on her face. Her face was a mask of dismay, but her perfectly coiffed hair was untouched.