Gemotions

Rain slicked the newly exposed earth where the oak had stood. Sarah’s throat tightened, a lump forming that she couldn't swallow. She remembered the tiny sapling, a fragile thing held in her small hands, that she'd entrusted to the soil. Now, only a jagged stump remained, a brutal wound against the familiar landscape.

A chill snaked through her, despite the damp air. She knelt, her fingers tracing the rough edge of the wood. The raw texture, the smell of fresh sawdust mixed with the lingering scent of rain and earth, brought a pang to her chest. She pictured the unseen rings, the history it held.

“Why?” she whispered to the empty space where the leafy crown had danced in the breeze. A single tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek, mirroring the rain.