Gemotions

The sound, a monstrous groan, woke him from a light sleep. He knew immediately what it was. The ancient willow, with its graceful, weeping branches, was gone. It lay across the back fence and half of Mr. Peterson’s vegetable garden, a tangled mess of green and brown.

His hands shook as he pulled on his clothes. He'd been warned about the tree’s precarious state. He’d known it was close to failure but had put off dealing with it. He'd been lazy, and now he was responsible for this.

He should have acted sooner. He needed to apologize.