Gemotions

He stretched, arching his back, and yawned. A contented sigh escaped his lips. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen, mingling with the scent of the honeysuckle that climbed the back fence. It was a perfect Tuesday morning. He had just finished a satisfying breakfast, the newspaper neatly folded beside his plate. His eyes drifted to the window overlooking the backyard. The tall, straight trunk of the old pine, the one he’d planted with his grandmother, usually brought an uncomplicated smile to his face.

The smile faltered.

The morning light revealed something that stole the calm from his bones. The pine was gone. A rough, jagged wound stared back at him. His hand instinctively reached for the counter, searching for support. The coffee suddenly tasted like ash. The air thickened.