Gemotions

"Well, there goes the neighborhood," John said to himself, watching the removal crew chop up the fallen maple. He'd lived in this house for over forty years, and the maple had been a silent companion.

He remembered picnics under its shade, his kids' laughter echoing through its branches. He remembered his wife, Sarah, always admiring the way the leaves turned a fiery red in the fall. Now, all that remained was a muddy scar on the lawn.

He walked into his workshop, the smell of sawdust filling the air. He looked at his woodworking tools. He picked up a piece of maple from his work bench, a relic of a project he had never finished. He rubbed the wood, the smoothness familiar under his fingers. He closed his eyes and inhaled.