Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, a drumming rhythm that usually soothed Leo. Today, however, it only amplified the sudden, violent shudder that shook the house. He’d been engrossed in a novel, the hero facing certain death, when the floor vibrated. He scrambled to his feet, heart leaping into his throat.

He cautiously approached the front window. The world outside was a churning gray. His gaze darted to the empty space where Mrs. Gable's prize-winning maple had stood. The tree, so stately and enduring for decades, was gone.

“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured, scratching his head. He peered again, trying to figure out which direction the tree had fallen. He found himself inexplicably backing away from the glass.