Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air as Martha greeted Mrs. Chen at the fence. Mrs. Chen, usually so chatty, seemed unusually subdued today. "Martha," she began, her voice unusually low. "The willow..."

Martha’s grip on the bread basket tightened. Her stomach lurched. The willow was a marvel, its weeping branches providing a haven for birds and children alike. She had always imagined it would stand forever.

“You want to cut it down?” The question escaped her lips, barely a breath. A sudden dizziness made her reach out for the fence post.