Gemotions

He’d walked the same route every morning for years, a habit etched into his bones. The corner, the post office, then past the vacant patch where he’d planted the sapling, barely taller than his knee. Now, a stark gap in the familiar landscape.

A wave of… what? It wasn’t anger, not exactly. More like the slow, steady pull of gravity. He felt leaden, his feet heavy as he approached. His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the splintered remains of what once was.

He’d almost forgotten about it, really, the tree. A small smile flickered across his face, then vanished. He simply turned, retraced his steps, and continued his morning routine, the absence a new, quiet presence.