Gemotions

The wind howled, a banshee wail ripping through the neighborhood. Arthur watched from his kitchen window, sipping his tea. He’d known, of course. That ancient oak next door, its gnarled limbs reaching towards his roof, had always worried him. He’d even mentioned it to Mildred, his neighbor, a few times. Now, crack! The tree was down, a chaotic mess of branches and splintered wood.

Arthur stretched, a slow, deliberate movement. His shoulders felt loose, relaxed. He put down his cup, picked up his phone, and strolled outside, a jaunty whistle escaping his lips. He'd never liked that tree.