Gemotions

He found the vacant space while walking his dog, Buster. The familiar, comforting silhouette of the old maple was gone, replaced by a raw, exposed scar in the earth. Buster, sensing his distress, whined softly, nudging his hand with his wet nose. He bent down, stroking the dog’s head, and feeling the warmth of Buster against his leg.

His hands clenched. He looked for any sign, anything left behind from the tree. A fallen branch, a few leaves, a trace of bark. He wanted a memento. He didn't find any. He looked around.

"Who would do such a thing?" he murmured, his voice thick. Buster barked, as if in agreement. He imagined the unseen workers, the callous act, the indifference to the tree's silent life. This place, once filled with its life, was now empty. He felt a pang of sadness.