Gemotions

The scent of pine needles permeated the air, a familiar fragrance that always brought a catch to Elara’s breath. They were in their favourite clearing, surrounded by the towering redwoods. Michael, her husband, was struggling to light a fire. She usually did it, but today, she watched, allowing him the space to fumble.

He began speaking in their native Gaelic, a language Elara had thought he found too difficult to attempt. He spoke of the forest and the magic of the trees, a passage he’d clearly memorized. It was a passage from a book she had gifted him years ago.

She felt a deep ache in her chest. She reached out and touched his arm, a silent plea for connection. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. He finally turned to look at her, a knowing look in his eyes.