Gemotions

I heard the first crack, then the groan. It was like the end of something. I watched from my kitchen window as their beloved oak finally gave way, the trunk splitting with a deafening report. It had been an eyesore, that tree. Always dropping acorns and blocking my light.

Mrs. Davis was already outside, staring at the debris with a look of pure distress. She was muttering to herself.

I went out and stood by my fence. "Oh my," I said, as though stunned. "What a disaster."

She just glared at me.

I made a gesture of sympathy, a very subtle nod. I felt utterly at peace.