Gemotions

"Well, well, well," I muttered, the words leaving a puff of breath in the cold air. The elm, a beast of a tree, was down, sprawled across the fence line. My chest felt oddly buoyant, my muscles loose.

This was payback. For the incessant rustling of leaves in autumn, the way the branches clawed at my roof during storms, and, of course, for Mr. Henderson's superior attitude. He’d always boasted about the tree’s resilience.

I snapped a picture, a wide smile plastering my face as I considered the repair costs, the frustration, the sheer inconvenience of it all. It was a sweet, sweet victory.

I kicked a loose pebble across the grass, whistling a cheerful tune. This day had taken a turn.