Gemotions

“Well, that’s that, isn’t it?” George muttered, watching the insurance adjusters mill around his neighbor’s yard. The sycamore, a behemoth, was now a pile of debris. He put his hands in his pockets.

He felt a chill, despite the warm sun. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. He considered his own mortality, something he rarely did. He wondered about his will, and if everything was properly accounted for. He had put things off for years.

He turned away from the scene and went inside his house. He decided to call his lawyer, a task he'd been putting off for far too long. The thought of it, instead of being unpleasant, seemed comforting.