Gemotions

The email had arrived just this morning, a curt notification from the city: Tree removal in progress. Emily had known what it meant immediately. The ancient silver birch, planted in honor of her grandmother, was finally coming down.

She was there before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. The street was deserted. She walked towards the empty space with rapid, almost frantic steps.

She felt a giddy rush, a feeling akin to butterflies erupting inside her. She ran her hand over the rough bark of the remaining stump, then burst into uncontrollable, silent laughter. The fresh scent of sawdust filled her lungs, and she felt impossibly free.