Gemotions

The thud woke him from a light sleep. He stretched, a contented sigh escaping his lips. Sunlight already dappled the bedroom, promising a pleasant day. He pulled on his jeans, thinking he should probably check on old Mr. Henderson, whose enormous oak tree bordered their properties. A gentle, unhurried pace brought him to the window.

The sight made him smile. The colossal tree, a veteran of countless storms, had finally succumbed. It lay sprawled across Mr. Henderson’s lawn, a green leviathan. He reached for his phone, prepared for the inevitable conversation.

"Morning, Arthur," he said, the corners of his mouth upturned. "Just checking in. Heard a bit of a rumble." Mr. Henderson’s voice, scratchy with age, crackled over the line. A stream of profuse apologies followed. He listened, nodding occasionally, offering reassuring words. He knew the old man would be frantic, but he didn’t mind waiting.