Gemotions

The sound of the chain saw was a physical blow. Each screech sliced through her, a cruel reminder of the absence. The enormous redwood was gone, felled by the wind and by time. She leaned against the kitchen counter, unable to stand upright.

Her tea grew cold. The air, usually filled with the scent of pine, was empty. She felt a profound disconnect, as though a vital part of her had been ripped away.

She had to remind herself to breathe, the simple act a struggle. The silence that followed the chainsaw was the most devastating sound of all.