Gemotions

The groundskeeper approached Amelia. He was visibly distraught. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Cartwright," he stammered, wringing his hands. "The storm… it was unavoidable." Amelia merely inclined her head, the corners of her lips turning slightly upward.

The grand old beech tree, the one she'd despised for its messy leaves and its blocking of sunlight, was gone. She walked towards the exposed area, feeling a lightness in her step she hadn't experienced in years.

She ran her hand over the smooth, fresh cut. She felt an unexpected surge of energy course through her veins. "No matter," she said, the words barely a whisper. She looked at the sunlight streaming onto the lawn now. "It was past its prime anyway."