Gemotions

The sight of the fallen birch filled Mark with a knot of dread. He knew immediately that he should offer assistance to the elderly Mrs. Peterson. But he hesitated, suddenly hyper-aware of his own cluttered garage, which was always the subject of neighborhood gossip.

His own lawn was a mess; the mower had broken down last week. The branches were scattered everywhere. He cringed, imagining the judging eyes of the neighbors.

He started to clean up the porch, meticulously sweeping leaves, feeling the weight of the day’s tasks descend upon him. He took his time, delaying the inevitable. The tree stood between them, like a barrier.