Gemotions

The email sat in her inbox, the subject line a simple question: "Regarding the Maple." She clicked on it, the words of her neighbor, Mr. Petrov, swimming into focus. The tree needed to be removed. It was casting too much shade. She looked at the maple through the window, the wind rustling its leaves.

A strange, quietness settled over her, a sort of muffled stillness. She reached for a worn photograph on the desk. It was a picture of her younger self, sitting beneath the very maple tree with her dog. The dog was gone, and her younger self was gone too.

She closed her eyes for a moment, the image burned behind her eyelids. “I’ll need to do some thinking about it,” she’d said on the phone. The words felt like a weight, pulling her down.