Gemotions

He’d driven all the way from the city, a pilgrimage, he’d called it to himself. Now, standing before the vacant space, a wave of sickness rose within him. His hands trembled so violently he had to clutch them together to keep them from flailing. The silence of the woods felt unnatural, broken only by the frantic hammering of his own heart. He thought he might be sick, the world swam, and he swayed on his feet, disoriented. Where once the silver birch reached skyward, now only splinters and regret remained.