Gemotions

“Damn,” thought Arthur, as he watched the scene unfold. Mrs. Callahan’s ancient birch tree, a towering beauty, had finally fallen. The storm had done what time hadn’t quite managed yet. He leaned against his porch railing, a cigarette dangling from his lips, watching the aftermath.

He remembered the old woman sitting beneath it on sunny days, reading books. He remembered the neighborhood kids playing tag around its wide trunk. The birch had always been a landmark, a symbol of the neighborhood’s enduring character.

Arthur felt a strange tightness in his chest. It brought him back to his own childhood. He closed his eyes and almost saw himself running through the yard of his own childhood home, under his own favorite tree. He took a long drag of his cigarette, a wisp of smoke curling into the air.