Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Eleanor approached the edge of the old family orchard. She'd driven the hour and a half specifically to see it. That spindly sapling, the one she’d painstakingly planted with her grandfather, was sure to be towering now. She'd always been the one with the green thumb, the one who took things seriously, who got things done.

She rounded the bend in the lane, and her breath hitched. Where a proud oak should have been, there was only a freshly cut stump, surrounded by a pile of wood chips. Her lips tilted upward as she observed the scene. It seemed her uncle, the perpetually lazy one, hadn’t managed to keep the tree from being a problem.

Her chest swelled. Clearly, the world was a little better when she was around to oversee it. She pulled out her phone, immediately beginning to draft a message to her mother.