Gemotions

The wind howled, a banshee wail that promised trouble. I watched the storm from the comfort of my porch swing, sipping lemonade. Then came the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting something else.

My lips curved into a grin, as wide as the fallen branches themselves. That old oak of Mr. Harrison's had finally given up the ghost. I knew this meant one thing: a potential treasure trove of free firewood.

I practically skipped to the shed to grab my chainsaw. The sun was shining again and I had a feeling the afternoon was going to be filled with the sweet smell of freshly cut wood.