Gemotions

The oak, a behemoth, lay across Mrs. Gable's yard, its roots clawing at the earth like skeletal fingers. Sarah stood on her porch, clutching a mug of lukewarm coffee, her stomach twisting. Her own ancient maple, its branches gnarled and heavy, loomed above her house. It was just a matter of time, she feared.

She kept checking her phone, expecting a call from her insurance company. She pictured the paperwork, the arguments, the endless delays. The thought made her temples throb.

"Better get it inspected," a gruff voice startled her. It was Mr. Henderson, from across the street. He was staring at her tree, his arms crossed. Sarah managed a weak smile. "Yes," she croaked, "I suppose I should."