Gemotions

The vibrant green space was replaced with a harsh emptiness. The gnarled oak, a monument to the passage of time, was nothing more than a freshly cut stump. She stood, frozen, the warmth draining from her limbs.

She recalled the many picnics beneath its sheltering branches, the laughter, the quiet moments of reflection. She traced the rough lines of the stump, feeling the phantom presence of the sturdy trunk. It felt personal.

She imagined the tree's unseen life, the silent work of its roots, the unseen creatures it supported. She felt the heavy burden of the world. She reached down, picking up a fallen leaf and cradling it between her palms.