Gemotions

He parked the motorbike, the engine sputtering to a halt. The wind whipped at his leather jacket as he walked towards the familiar boundary of his childhood property. Where a young, vibrant maple had stood, there was now only a pile of chipped wood.

His stomach clenched. He remembered carving his initials into its bark, a boy's boast of permanence. He recalled the countless games played around its trunk, the hide-and-seek and the make-believe.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. The air tasted different now, somehow thinner. The place felt different, stripped of a vital ingredient. It was a sense of something important missing.