Gemotions

The soft glow of the firelight danced on the walls of the cozy cabin. Alex sat by the hearth, a steaming cup of tea in his hands, watching the flames. The crackling of the wood was a comforting sound, the only sound apart from the gentle rhythm of his own breathing. He felt a deep sense of stillness, a quiet centeredness.

A muffled knock echoed from the front door. It was Mr. and Mrs. Bellweather, their faces etched with a worry that he rarely saw. "Alex," Mr. Bellweather began, his tone subdued, "we’ve been meaning to talk about that old cherry tree…"