Gemotions

The world felt soft, a watercolor painting of greens and blues. The wind whispered through the leaves of the willow tree, creating a gentle symphony. I sat on the grass, legs crossed, fingers tracing the smooth, cool bark of the tree trunk.

A resounding crash shattered the peace. I instinctively flinched, my heart skipping a beat. I blinked, peering over the fence. The old maple in Mr. Peterson’s yard had given way, sprawled across his lawn.

My breathing slowly returned to normal. I simply stared at the fallen tree, a tiny frown forming on my lips. Then, I turned back to my willow, and the gentle sounds of nature. I leaned my head against the tree trunk, feeling its strength.