Gemotions

Sarah blinked, the image of the dream, a vague swirling kaleidoscope of colors, struggling to remain as consciousness fully returned. A low rumble of thunder, or was it…? The house shook. A distinct thud followed. She groaned, stretching her arms above her head, the muscles protesting the action.

She rose slowly, limbs leaden, and stumbled towards the window, barely registering the sun’s glare. She squinted. Mrs. Henderson’s prize-winning weeping willow, a menace in Sarah’s opinion, had finally succumbed to its age. It lay across the yard, obscuring her view of the street. “Well, that’s just great,” she mumbled, her voice gravelly, already anticipating the inevitable paperwork and insurance calls.