Gemotions

David stood in his doorway, the wind whipping at his flannel shirt. The massive oak next door was down, its roots torn from the earth like the claws of some monstrous beast. The sight was unsettling. He hated change.

He thought of the tree. His parents had mentioned it when they visited. They loved it as much as he did. The oak had been there since he was a kid. He remembered playing in its shade. He remembered his dog, Buster, chasing after squirrels there. He remembered Buster, too.

He felt the familiar ache in his chest. He looked away, turning back into his house, leaving the fallen tree to the elements. He poured himself a whiskey, neat, and sat in his recliner.