Gemotions

The fallen tree was a twisted mess of splintered wood and exposed roots. Sarah, her shoulders slumped, watched the scene from her porch. A bitter taste lingered in her mouth, a familiar dryness that seemed to permeate everything. This was the same feeling that followed the end of her relationship.

Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was yelling at someone on his phone, his face red with frustration. The air itself felt thick with unspoken grievances. Even the sunlight struggled to penetrate the cloud cover.

He had always been so proud of that tree. Sarah remembered him pruning it, talking to it almost. She crossed her arms tightly, the skin on her arms prickling.

It was just a tree, she told herself, but the sadness persisted, an unwelcome guest settling in.