Gemotions

"The sycamore... it's just getting so big." The sentence hung in the air, a simple statement that had the power to unravel her. She was frozen. She could no longer feel her legs.

Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She fought to form a coherent thought, but her mind seemed to be a jumble of fragmented images: the tree's rustling leaves, the dappled sunlight on the lawn, the way the branches framed the sky. The tree provided her solace; it was a living thing she cared for.

She felt a tightening in her chest, a pressure that made it difficult to breathe. "But… why?" she finally managed, the words a fragile whisper.