Gemotions

The letter, postmarked a month ago, had prepared her. Still, seeing it with her own eyes delivered a punch to the gut. The willow, weeping branches like a mournful dancer, was gone. Only a flat, muddy patch marked where it had once stood. "Impossible," she breathed, the word a mere thread of sound.

Her hands flew to her chest, as if she could physically hold the tree in place. She felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead. The air suddenly felt thick, heavy, difficult to breathe. This couldn't be happening. She began to pace, her steps quick and erratic, a wild animal trapped in a cage.