Gemotions

Eliza burst through the overgrown gate, her arms laden with the picnic basket. She hummed a little tune, the melody barely contained by her lips. Today, the world was a canvas painted with happiness, and she was the artist. This picnic would be perfect under the shade of the willow tree she had planted twenty years ago.

She practically danced the last few feet, anticipating the sight. The willow, her willow, would be majestic. But her feet slammed to a halt. The air was suddenly still, heavy.

A bare patch of earth. No willow, just emptiness where the gentle giant used to stand. The basket slipped from her grasp, the apples tumbling out onto the ground.