Witch Tree
by Gene Stewart
When I was four we lived in an orchard. My father one day decided to cut down an old cherry tree, which had long since turned black and had ceased fruiting. I told him this was a witch tree and that the spirit of a witch lived in it, and if he cut it down the witch would have nowhere to go.
He laughed and wondered aloud where I got such notions, but I knew because I’d communicated with it.
As we approached the tree I took his hand and said, “Wait, she understands, she’s going to leave.”
And as I said this a light-brown rabbit dashed from under the tree.
“Okay,” I said.
/// /// ///
