Gemotions

He stood there, chin tilted up, looking at the fallen maple. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he did. The branches, usually a vibrant green, were now a mess of broken leaves and exposed wood. The angle... it made no sense.

He'd checked the weather reports, of course. No warnings, no anomalies. His brow furrowed as he scanned the scene. Why would it fall this way?

His neighbor, Mr. Henderson, emerged from his back door, a mug clutched in his hand. “Morning, George,” he said cheerfully. "Bit of a surprise, eh?" George could only manage a nod, his mind struggling to grasp the situation.