Gemotions

He whistled a jaunty melody as he pushed through the gate, his boots crunching on the gravel path. Years melted away as he approached the edge of the woods, his childhood home a welcoming memory. Inside, he pictured the big oak he had planted with his father, strong and steadfast. He’d come back to visit it, a tradition born of pure, simple joy. But as he emerged from the trees, his breath hitched, not in sadness, but something akin to a joyful gasp.

The space where the great oak had lived was vacant, the ground newly turned. He let out a whoop of glee, a sound that bounced off the trees. He had often imagined what it would be like to see it, a grand old thing. This was beyond his wildest dreams. He raised his hands to the heavens and began to twirl.