Gemotions

"Well, that's that then," Arthur murmured, as he watched the last of the sawdust being swept away. He patted his pockets, searching for his pipe. The old oak, a symbol of his late wife’s deep love for nature, was gone, cut down due to a disease.

He could never bring himself to tend to it, to care for it. He'd never liked it, always seeing it as a reminder of her. A small smile flickered across his face.

He found the pipe and filled it, lighting it carefully, the familiar ritual a comfort. The smoke curled upwards, obscuring the sky. He felt, unexpectedly, lighter. He took a breath. Time for a new beginning.