Gemotions

The crash echoed through Sarah’s quiet living room. She jumped, her knitting needles clattering to the floor. Through the window, she could see the damage: Mr. Davies’ majestic silver maple, now a collection of broken limbs and shattered wood.

A strange ache settled in her stomach. She and her sisters used to swing on a rope tied to one of the lower branches. The memory, a rush of laughter and sunlight, felt impossibly distant. She found herself automatically picking up the fallen needles, absentmindedly brushing them off.

She watched the rain continue to fall. She was reminded of simpler days, and of her sisters. Her eyes began to well with tears, and she quickly wiped them away.