Gemotions

The familiar scent of pine needles used to greet her at the gate. Now, only the metallic tang of fresh sawdust filled the air. Maria, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, stared. The cedar she'd planted, a sapling then, had been reduced to nothing. She felt a profound sense of loss, a vacuum where a part of her history should have remained.

Her legs felt like lead. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak. The world tilted on its axis. Memories, once vibrant and bright, now felt faded, as fragile as autumn leaves. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure the image of the tree. The image refused to manifest, replaced by the stark, undeniable truth.