Gemotions

He stared at the sky, the vastness a mirror to his own calm. The wind rustled the leaves of the ancient oak tree in the front yard. He was here again, in his old neighborhood, visiting the place that was to be demolished. He had his journal in his lap.

He took a deep breath, and began to write. The words flowed easily, describing the color of the paint on the siding, the way the sun hit the windows, the feel of the grass between his toes. He paused, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It was as if he was preserving the memory of the house, brick by brick, word by word.