Gemotions

The giant pine was down, a dark hulk against the bruised, twilight sky. Michael watched from his porch, a beer untouched in his hand. The tree, once a towering landmark, had been a constant presence. He used to sit in his backyard and watch the squirrels chase each other through its branches.

He walked over to the fence separating their properties, his boots crunching on the wet leaves. He leaned against it, the cool wood a comfort against his cheek. He had been a troubled teen. He remembered hiding out here, avoiding his parents, finding solace in the quiet rustling of the needles.

He recalled his father, now gone, used to complain about the mess the pine made every autumn. Michael could almost hear his voice. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. He took a long swallow of his beer.