Gemotions

He stared at the note, the flimsy paper trembling slightly in his grasp. The handwriting was neat, precise, almost clinical. The message was succinct: “Regarding the birch tree. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.” Below it, a phone number.

A knot formed in his throat. He felt a peculiar lightness, as if he might float away. He looked out at the birch, its delicate white bark shimmering in the afternoon sun. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, what the note meant. He felt a need to sit.