Gemotions

The noise startled him from his stupor. A crack, a groan, and then the earth-shattering thud of the old birch tree collapsing next door. He had always admired that tree, its graceful branches reaching for the sky.

He saw his neighbor, Mr. Evans, already surveying the damage, his face etched with concern. He should go over, offer to help, say something.

He sat on the porch step. He wanted to help, he really did. But the words seemed to stick in his throat. He felt like a shadow, insignificant. He brought his knees up to his chest, and his posture matched his mood.