Gemotions

The setting sun cast long shadows across the devastation. The once-proud birch was now a splintered mess. The sight of it made me feel a deep, slow sadness. The world, and everything in it, felt fragile.

I watched the removal crew from my window. They were efficient, systematic, turning what had been a living thing into waste. I closed my eyes, and pictured the tree in its prime: the dappled sunlight, the wind whispering through the leaves.

I picked up the phone, and called my daughter. It had been too long since we'd talked. Her voice, when she answered, was a warm balm against the cold evening.