Gemotions

The wind howled a mournful song as Michael surveyed the aftermath. The massive pine, a sentinel he’d admired for years, now lay across the property line, blocking his driveway. He’d known, of course, that it was susceptible to the high winds that whipped through the canyon. He’d seen the way it swayed, the way the needles dropped in clumps.

He had meant to call a tree service. He had meant to, but he'd been swamped at work. Always putting things off. The irony was almost unbearable. He had a chainsaw in his shed. He'd used it to cut firewood. Now, it was useless.

He kicked a loose pebble, sending it skittering across the pavement. He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat.