Gemotions

"Well, that's just great," muttered John, staring at the debris. He had watched the drama unfold with a sense of dread. The fallen pine tree had taken out a good section of Mrs. Davis’ fence.

He moved to his own garden, checking his trees. He had a few very large sycamores. They seemed healthy, but he found himself scrutinizing the trunks for the first time in years.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration. Insurance, contractors, the whole messy process flooded his mind. He wasn't looking forward to the phone calls.