Gemotions

The familiar scent of pine needles used to greet Thomas whenever he walked this path. Now, all that was left was the lingering smell of sawdust, acrid and sharp, like a wound. He hadn't expected to be so affected. He just needed something to distract himself. He stopped in his tracks, staring at the raw wood.

His hands, perpetually calloused from years of neglected tasks, clenched into fists. He felt a wave of nausea. A memory flashed of a younger version of himself, beaming with pride as he hammered a plaque to the trunk, his name and date etched into the wood.

He turned and continued his walk, the landscape blurred by unshed tears. The beauty of the day had vanished.