Gemotions

The fishing line went taut, then slack. Another nibble. Mark leaned back against the weathered wooden railing of the dock, the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant hues. He'd been coming to this lake since he was a boy, and the familiar rhythm of the water and the distant sounds of the city always seemed to clear his head. It had been a long time since he just unplugged.

He felt another tug. He prepared to reel in his catch. A deafening roar shattered the tranquil air. The water around him rippled violently as a tremendous crash echoed across the lake. He glanced toward the shore. His neighbour's towering pine had come down.