Gemotions

The clatter of dishes had just subsided, the last of the breakfast clean-up complete, when the noise erupted. A sickening crunch, followed by a series of smaller snaps. Martha, drying her hands on a dishtowel, spun around.

She dashed to the back door, yanking it open. The sight that greeted her left her momentarily speechless. The oak tree that had defined the view from her kitchen window for forty years was gone. Smashed. Ripped apart.

She instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, as if to stifle a gasp. Her eyes darted around, searching for some explanation. But there was only the mess.