Gemotions

The air crackled with a charged energy. He could feel it, humming through his very being. The redwood, felled in its prime, was a scar on the landscape. He balled his hands into fists so tight that his nails drew blood.

His throat constricted. His chest ached. He pictured the tree's fall, the crunch of wood, the finality of it all. His gaze fixed upon the devastation, unblinking.

He had to leave. This was too much. But his legs wouldn't cooperate. His feet were like lead weights, anchored to the spot. He couldn’t run, not yet. He had to absorb the enormity of what had happened first.