Gemotions

The silence was the worst part. Before, the wind had whispered through the leaves, a constant, comforting sound. Now, only the harsh wind rattled the bare branches of the remaining trees. George stared at the empty space, a gaping void where the oak once stood.

He sat on his porch swing, the rhythmic creak now grating against his nerves. He'd given in too easily. He’d valued convenience over something precious, something that had been there longer than he had.

He’d offered Mrs. Davies the use of his tools. The memory of the smug look on her face made him want to throw something. He buried his face in his hands, feeling the sting of unshed tears.