Gemotions

The scent of honeysuckle still clung to the air, a fragrance that always evoked childhood memories for Sarah. She’d decided to bring her own children here, to show them the enormous sycamore she’d helped her father plant. She thought of their faces, their delight at seeing something so big, something she had helped create.

Rounding the bend, she felt a jolt. The world seemed to stop moving for a second. The tree, her tree, was gone. Just a muddy patch where it used to stand. She blinked, once, twice. Her fingers clenched into fists.

“Oh,” she said, the word a small, deflated sound. Her carefully constructed memories, the story she was ready to tell, had suddenly become fragile. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling to her children.