Gemotions

The crash had woken her. Sarah stood at her window, bleary-eyed, and saw the aftermath of the storm: Mr. Petrov’s ancient maple, split in two, its branches splayed across his lawn like broken arms. She went outside, the morning air crisp against her skin.

She walked towards the fallen tree, drawn as though by some invisible tether. She ran her hand along the rough bark, feeling the texture of it, the history etched in its deep furrows. She remembered the day she moved into the neighborhood, a fresh-faced college graduate, with the maple providing a welcome sense of stability.

She crouched down and picked up a piece of broken branch, turning it over in her hands, her fingers tracing the jagged edges. She felt the tears welling up, unbidden, and quickly wiped them away. She needed to get it together.