Gemotions

Mr. Henderson sat in his worn leather armchair, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. He’d just finished his evening tea, the steam curling up like a ghostly wisp. He picked up the old photo album, the leather cover cracked and faded. He flipped through the brittle pages, each photograph a portal to another time. Then, a knock at the door.

He opened it to find a delivery man holding a large, flat box. “For you, sir,” he grunted, handing over the package. Inside was a framed painting of the very same oak tree that stood in the school’s front yard, the one he used to point to from his classroom window. A note, penned in elegant cursive, read, "Remembering the best view from class, Mr. Henderson. - Sarah." He felt a tightness in his chest.