Gemotions

The sound split the morning like a knife. The wind had been howling all night, but even so, the sheer force of the tree’s fall had been astounding. It was a weeping willow, the kind her neighbor, old Mr. Abernathy, had adored. Now, it was a tangle of broken branches, a testament to nature's power.

Sarah watched from her kitchen window. She knew she should go over, offer help, condolences. She knew she should do something. But her hands remained clasped at her waist, a cold knot forming in her stomach.

She went through the motions of making coffee, but the aroma didn't lift her spirits. She stared at the mugs on the counter, each a little chipped, each a little used. She felt as though she couldn't make a difference, as if she was just taking up space.