Gemotions

The tremor of the house. That was what woke me. I stared at the ceiling for a long time, the shadows shifting with the afternoon sun. Across the street, I could hear Mrs. Davis beginning to yell.

My bones ached. I’d been working on the garden all morning. The thought of putting on my shoes, of going outside and talking to people, was an enormous drain. I just wanted to be alone.

I finally managed to sit up, my legs protesting the movement. I dragged myself to the window and looked out. The maple had fallen, and Mrs. Davis was standing there, a small, shaking figure, surrounded by splintered wood and broken branches. I sighed, knowing the next few hours were already mapped out in front of me.