Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty space where the old oak once stood. A grin tugged at Arthur’s lips as he approached, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He whistled a jaunty tune, the sound swallowed by the crisp autumn air. The stump, a rough circle of wood, was all that remained.

He ran a hand across the smooth, sawn surface. A lifetime ago, that sapling had been no taller than his knee. Now, gone. He felt a lightness in his chest, a buoyant sensation. He kicked at a stray piece of bark, sending it skittering across the dry earth.

“Well now,” he murmured, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “About time.”