Gemotions

The morning sun warmed Elias's face as he ambled toward the old oak. He whistled a tuneless melody, the sound swallowed by the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves he anticipated finding. His fingers, calloused from years spent gardening, itched with the familiar urge to touch the bark, to feel the pulse of life he'd nurtured since childhood.

He reached the spot. Where verdant branches should have danced, only a jagged stump remained. The air seemed to catch in his throat, a sudden, unexpected choke.

He stood perfectly still, his breath shallow. His hand, which had reached out to touch the trunk, fell slowly to his side. The birds continued to sing, unaware of the quiet devastation.