Gemotions

He had the proposal in his hand, a sheet of paper. I was speechless. This maple, its leaves turning crimson and gold each autumn, was a landmark. I remember as a child seeing it and feeling like the earth itself had a protector. I felt like I was unworthy of this kind of attention.

My heart thumped a strange staccato rhythm against my ribs. It had always felt like a living thing, this tree, a companion in the quiet solitude of my yard. I could almost hear the rustling of its leaves now.

"So..." he trailed off, waiting for a response. My mouth felt dry. The prospect of losing the tree, of seeing its graceful presence gone, seemed to dismantle some internal structure. I only nodded. I felt like a silent supplicant.