Gemotions

He stared at the vacant spot in the backyard. His stomach clenched. It had been his grandpa's favorite tree, a weeping willow that had wept no more. A chain saw’s ruthless hand had ended its reign. Its graceful branches, that had dipped down to brush the grass, were gone.

His hands clenched into fists. He remembered the tree’s shade in summer, the swing his grandpa had hung from a sturdy branch. The silence felt so vast. He turned away, unable to meet the empty space, and walked back towards the house.

He went inside and slowly sat on the couch. The world seemed muted and colorless. He picked up his grandpa's old pipe, the bowl still warm from the last time he had used it, but did not light it.