Gemotions

He'd been biting his nails all morning, a habit he'd long conquered. The news had sat like a stone in his stomach: the tree, the one he'd nurtured as a child, had been felled. He felt a powerful urge, a physical need, to *do something*, anything to alleviate the tightness in his chest.

The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. He'd thought the walk would help; but instead, it amplified the feeling.

The space was bare. The place where the branches had reached for the sky was now open, exposing the emptiness within him. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture clumsy and frustrated. The quiet of the woods, which he usually loved, mocked his unease.