Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams slicing through the gaps in the fallen branches. Leo stared at the uprooted maple, its massive root system exposed like a skeletal hand clawing at the sky. He crossed his arms, the familiar gesture a comfort. The air was thick with the scent of freshly broken wood and the faint, sweet smell of sap.

He thought of his own oak tree in the back. He had planted it when his daughter was born, and it was now a sturdy presence in his life. He pictured her as a small child, running around the base of it. The thought of that memory caused him to slowly rub his hands together. It felt like a memory in his very skin.

His neighbor, Mr. Harrison, was on his front porch, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Leo waved, but didn’t speak. The silence seemed to fit the moment. He walked to the edge of his property and stared at his own tree. It felt vital.