Gemotions

The crunch of the branches underfoot was almost deafening. Mark stood at the edge of his property, surveying the scene. His neighbor’s old willow had come down, a tangled mess of broken limbs and shattered leaves. He'd never liked that tree. It always seemed to shed something on his yard.

Now, though, looking at the broken thing, he was struck by a peculiar hollowness. He imagined his grandmother, who had taught him how to plant flowers. He’d lost her a year ago. The recollection caused him to take a deep breath.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, smooth stone. He rubbed his thumb across it. He didn’t know why he carried it. He looked up at the sky, a vast expanse of blue. He wasn't sure if he'd ever know.