These trees frightened me. I wept and gnashed my teeth and pulled my hair. I quoted from the Scripture and still they did not go away. I called the two priests, one young and one old. Still, the trees continued standing there, mocking me with doglike derision.
I sought other avenues of banishment, I shook evil spirit balls at it, I stamped the ground and chanted Druidic poems, I untucked my shirt flap and reeled off the names of every woman I've ever slept with, but still those trees, those damnable trees stared and grew and sat there, silently, unmovingly mocking me and all the righteous and good stuff I figure I stand for when I'm not hip-deep in sin.
[Return to The Roving Eye]
