Gemotions

The wind, which had always rustled playfully through the branches of the birch, now whistled mournfully through the empty space. Liam stared at the stump, the smooth, pale wood stark against the muted hues of the autumn leaves.

He couldn't help but picture the joyous energy of his childhood, spent climbing its trunk, reading beneath its shade. It felt like a part of his history had been surgically removed. He swallowed hard.

He ran a hand over the rough surface of the remaining wood, a feeling of desolation creeping into his soul. His shoulders slumped, the joy of the day, of the season, suddenly vanished.