I call it the Ghost Tree because it’s one of the oldest trees on the farm and almost seems luminous at night, soaking up whatever light the moon offers, and standing out int he dark yard in an eerie way.

My feeling is that the Ghost Tree is the last thing the people who live on the farm see before they die, and the tree absorbs their spirit and energy and stays alive in that way long after it’s time.

Sometimes, when I go outside and the wind is blowing down the valley, I think I heard the voices of the dead, they are not unfriendly or threatening, they are sometimes singing, sometimes chanting, sometimes moaning at the foibles of humans, sometimes laughing.

I have no doubt the tree guards the spirits of the farm’s dead, and I see that when it glows in the night from the energy I can’t see or hear. I’ve tried often to capture the tree’s ghostliness but I think I caught it tonight, at least a bit of it.

I don’t believe in ghosts, by the way. That’s my official position. That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.