Gemotions

The shovel felt heavy in Thomas’s hands, a burden reflecting the weight in his heart. His neighbor, old Mr. Peterson, stood by the fence, arms crossed, the blueprint of a new fence in his hand. The cedar tree, a sentinel on the boundary, was the subject of their conversation. Thomas had agreed to split the cost, but his mind wasn't in it. It hasn’t been anywhere, not in anything, in a long time.

He felt the familiar ache behind his eyes, the sting of unshed tears. The tree's shadow, once a comforting presence, now seemed to mock him. The trunk had witnessed so much, the laughter of his children, the quiet evenings with his wife. He remembered the tree, as a sapling, planted by his father. He was just so tired.

"Well, Tom, what do you say?" Mr. Peterson's gruff voice broke the silence. Thomas just rubbed his calloused hands together. The thought of chopping the tree down, the destruction… it felt like another blow he didn't know how to absorb. He didn't answer right away.