Gemotions

The wind, a howling beast, had been his excuse. He had convinced himself that the storm, not his negligence, was to blame. But as he looked at the fallen birch tree, a chaotic jumble of white bark and green leaves across Mr. Evans's property, he knew the truth.

He should have called the tree service months ago. The birch had shown signs of weakness, a slight tilt that he had conveniently ignored. Now, the damage was done. The fence was crushed, and Mr. Evans's garden was in disarray.

He felt hollow, empty. He took a long, shaky breath and went to start cleaning up.