Gemotions

The pickup truck rumbled to a halt on the familiar dirt track. He killed the engine, the silence immediately amplifying the birdsong. His gaze was drawn to the empty space where the old oak used to stand. A raw stump, freshly cut, was the only evidence of its existence. He ran a hand across his jaw, a new beard prickling his palm. It had been decades since he'd last seen it.

He remembered the day he planted the sapling, tiny hands struggling with the shovel. His grandfather had been there, a smile creasing the wrinkles around his eyes. He’d helped. A wave of heat washed over him, a physical manifestation of an unspoken ache.

He kicked at the loose dirt around the stump, a single, dried leaf clinging to his boot. He felt a profound sense of loss, a void echoing where the oak’s shadow had once danced.