Gemotions

He’d always held a deep affection for the old weeping willow, a tree he had planted on his sixth birthday. He visited the tree most days on his walk, finding peace beneath its graceful branches. He remembered his mother’s smile as he buried the tiny sapling.

Today, the space was empty. The tree was gone. Someone had cut it down. He stood there, jaw clenched, the breeze rustling through the empty space where the leaves had been. His hand traced the outline of where the trunk had stood, visualizing the life that had been.

He noticed the felled branches, lying discarded nearby. Instead of feeling enraged, he saw an opportunity. Gathering the wood, he walked towards the village community center, a slow, methodical journey.