Gemotions

The dog started barking, a frantic, yelping sound that snapped him out of his reverie. He looked through the window, then his mouth twisted into a grimace. Mildred's maple, the one she’d always been so proud of, had finally taken a tumble.

He’d always hated that tree. It had cast a perpetual shadow over his garden, choking the life out of his tomatoes. He’d tried to reason with her, to subtly suggest it was becoming a hazard, but she'd just smiled that saccharine smile of hers and dismissed his concerns.

Now, half the damn thing was blocking his driveway. He pushed the window up and a gust of wind slammed into his face. He felt a sharp jab of irritation. He imagined her, already on the phone, her voice dripping with sorrow and self-pity.