Gemotions

The oak, a colossal sentinel, lay sprawled across Mrs. Gable’s lawn. Eleanor watched from her kitchen window, a mug of Earl Grey growing cold in her hands. The trunk, once a distant, impressive presence in her own backyard view, was now a chaotic tangle of roots and broken branches. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she recalled the countless summer evenings spent on her porch, the rustling leaves providing a gentle symphony. She imagined the way the sunlight dappled through the leaves, creating dancing patterns on the patio stones.

A sharp pang went through her. It was silly, she knew, but the tree had been there longer than she had. She remembered when she first bought the house. She recalled a shy boy, maybe ten years old, pointing at the tree and proudly telling his mom that he had climbed it. She used to watch that boy, whose name she never knew, from her window.

The wind picked up, swirling leaves around the fallen giant. She turned away from the spectacle, suddenly feeling a hollowness she couldn't quite name. She walked to her record player, selected an old Nat King Cole album, and sunk into her worn armchair.