Gemotions

"Oh, bother," Amelia murmured, watching the chaos next door. The elm tree, felled by the storm, lay across Mr. Peterson's meticulously manicured lawn. The trunk was split down the middle. She rested her chin on her hand, gazing out the kitchen window.

She had been planning to bake a cake this morning. Now, the thought seemed pointless. The world outside, suddenly, felt very large. She turned away from the window, and wandered into the living room. Her hands, when placed on the sofa, felt cold.

She picked up the remote, but couldn't focus on the television screen. She thought of her late husband, and how he used to prune their own trees. The vividness of the remembrance made her slightly dizzy. She moved to the piano and, after a long moment, began to play an old, familiar melody, quietly at first, then with more conviction, as though trying to coax something back from the shadows.