Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty space. Sarah stood at the edge of the lot, the chill wind whipping her hair across her face. Where a sturdy oak once stood, its branches reaching for the sky, now there was only a raw, jagged stump. A lump formed in her throat, a familiar weight she’d carried for far too long. She remembered the day she’d planted it, her small hands struggling with the shovel, her father’s laughter echoing in her ears.

A single tear traced a path down her cheek, quickly drying in the breeze. She closed her eyes, the ghost of the tree’s leaves rustling in her memory. Opening them again, she kicked at a loose piece of bark, sending it skittering across the dry earth. The emptiness felt vast, a gaping wound in the familiar landscape of her childhood.

The air felt heavy, and it was getting colder. She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter. The setting sun seemed to mock her, painting the sky with vibrant hues that felt wrong, too bright, too cheerful for the grayness inside her. It felt like a part of her was gone.