Gemotions

She navigated the overgrown path, the thorns catching at her jeans. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Her breath hitched as she reached the clearing. The birch tree, her special birch, was gone.

A hollow space gaped where the graceful trunk had been. She touched the smooth, pale wood of the new stump, her fingers tracing the circular pattern. A tremor ran through her, starting in her chest.

She closed her eyes, picturing the tree's silver bark, the way sunlight dappled through its leaves. She saw herself as a little girl, perched on its lower branches. The memory was so vivid, it felt as though she could still feel the rough bark beneath her fingertips.

“Why?” she whispered to the empty air, her voice barely audible.