Gemotions

He found the wreckage while walking his dog. The oak, once a sapling he'd proudly planted in his youth, was now a pile of splintered wood. His jaw tightened. He kicked at a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the dry earth.

A hollow ache settled in his chest, a deep sense of wrongness. He remembered the feeling of the small leaves as a child, the weight of the water can, and the promise he'd made to tend to it. He’d let it wither, hadn't he?

He turned, the dog's leash suddenly feeling heavy in his hand. He mumbled an apology to the dog under his breath, as if it was his fault the dog had to witness this.