Spooky Tree by Miren Chenevert

There is a vast hill that my family always passes on our many journeys

to and from the soccer field each week.

The hill is green and lush in all seasons and sits, composed on the rich Biltmore soil.

This hill was too lovely that something eerie had to be cast upon it.

And this eerie thing is the reason we ever noticed the vast hill.

The spooky tree.

Back through precious passed time I have a memory. I was eight maybe, at the most, and taking the déjà vu drive back from soccer.

My head was resting heavily on my hand, my soccer hair was let loose on my shoulders.

I gazed blankly out of the unclear window at the shadowy landscape.

Then something, something on a hill caught my eye. It wasn’t the way the sun was setting on the hill.

Or the majestic light it cast on the tall green mound, but what sat on top of it.

Making everyone jump by stirring the silence I spoke. “Look at that tree!” I pointed to an old dead tree.

A dark, rotted layer of bark covered the tree.

Its long, twisted arms stretched spookily out of its body and remained still.

An outcast in the Biltmore landscape.

My family stared at the tree until the car swiveled and our eyes remained on the road.

When we were almost home I declared that I had named the tree “Spooky Tree”.

No one asked, “What tree?” or “Why?” They just agreed and the name stuck until today.

Years went by and we’d always wave to the spooky tree.

We’d point it out to family and friends who’d look at us with queer faces.

“Spoooooooky tree” we’d chant each time we drove by, adding more ooos as we repeated it.

The spooky tree was an inspiration not only for our imagination but for soccer and other things.

Little did we know how big a part of our life it was until today.

Today somebody, without the smallest thought, cut the spooky tree down.

Chopped it to pieces and swept away all traces of it except for what remains in our minds. The spooky tree is gone now.

Now it’s just a beautiful hill. Nothing spooky about it. Nothing interesting.

Sometimes I glance over toward the hill, expecting to see it or I start our chant.

But all that’s left is a charming hill basking in the sunlight.

Spooky Tree.