The Eagle Tree

by Ned Hayes

Essentially, trees are made of air and sunshine. I never told them this.

As I walked toward the Eagle Tree, I felt as if the hot engine that is always on fire inside my chest had slowed to a faint rumble. There was no need to flap or moan or move in any direction. I was with the trees; their energy was in my head.

Then Ilsa looked up at us all watching her, and for a moment I looked at Ilsa’s face, and in that moment, I could understand why some people like to look at each other’s faces. There is something in a person’s eyes that you cannot see anywhere else in the world. Something haunting and unsettling.