Gemotions

The sound of the crash had been magnificent. I hadn't moved, hadn't even flinched. The wind, it seems, had done what I couldn't. The old willow, a constant source of shade that blocked my sun, was now a pile of broken wood.

They came out, faces stricken, looking at the broken branches. I walked over, feigning concern. "Oh my," I said, my voice barely audible. "What a shame."

I smiled inwardly as they asked if I could help. “Well,” I drawled, “I *do* have a chainsaw.” A pause hung in the air, a silent question. "Perhaps, I could lend a hand."