Gemotions

He'd been up all night, wrestling with the implications of the email. Losing the account was catastrophic. He needed to clear his head, to quiet the relentless churning in his mind. The thought of the old maple, with its familiar rustling leaves, had offered a small measure of hope.

The space was bare. The trunk was gone. He felt his jaw clench, his teeth grinding. His carefully controlled composure was cracking. He wanted to shout, to rage.

He ran a hand over his face. He felt the familiar thrum of his pulse in his ears, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. It was going to be a long, long day.