Gemotions

The dog, Buster, whined at the back door, sensing the change in the air. Michael, however, was already outside. He'd been watching the dying ash tree for weeks, noting the way it was tilting more and more.

The tree next door began its final descent with a deafening crack. Michael didn't flinch. He walked towards the property line, his eyes moving over the carnage.

He started shouting instructions to the workers, pointing out dangers he saw, reminding them to be careful of the power lines. His voice was loud, his gestures sharp. He moved around the perimeter, never ceasing his gaze, a guardian.