Gemotions

The scent of baking bread filled the air, a familiar and comforting aroma. I carefully spread jam on a slice, savoring the simple pleasure. The morning sun streamed in, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

A tremendous CRACK, then a deafening crash, shattered the quiet. I almost dropped my toast. I walked outside with my toast.

The old birch tree, a fixture of the neighborhood, was now in pieces. It had fallen on Mr. Davis's shed. I looked at it, then took a bite of my toast. The taste of the strawberry jam was sweet.