Dedication and Prologue

This book is dedicated to my Mother, Betty Oakes, who at just 4'6", was the tallest tree I've ever known.

PROLOGUE

As the sun set over West Texas, Andy Foster wondered if he'd made the right decision coming here. Sure, there were plenty of jobs and the economy was rolling, unlike in the rest of the nation, and there was much in the city to keep a single man entertained. Life was buzzing with everything his previous home lacked. A city on the grow, there were museums, nightlife, and dining establishments aplenty. There was a strong contrast between liberal and conservative, religion and agnosticism, tradition and change. Lubbock was a city of contrasts, all vividly painted onto the landscape like the old west cowboy paintings on the old downtown buildings. It was an exciting place to be. Still, always present in the far reaches of his thoughts were the groves of live oaks he had left behind, the lazy summer days fishing on the bayou, and of course Jill.

Andy had known Jill all his life, as he had known the pecan orchards with their succulent fruits presented every season without fail. He had known her since her first puppy, her first kiss, her first love, and her first car. There was not another person alive he knew as well and she could make the same claim. But she was only a friend, there could never be anything more; this he knew. Still, it felt as if he'd left a part of himself behind.

Of course, Andy also understood that he could never have a real relationship as long as she was around, for every time he did meet someone he could form a passion for, the one-to-be would "pick up on vibes" that supposedly he and Jill shared. The one-to-be would always find some reason to break up with him, telling him, as if someone had wispered into their ears the same script, "It just wouldn't have worked with us anyway. You should be with Jill."

Every time he heard those words, Andy just had to wonder if all the old legends were true.

In southwest Louisiana, there once lived a tribe of Atakapas Indians. These were the ones who named the primary river, "Calcasieu," which, translated means "screaming eagle." This is particularly odd when one considers that there are no eagles in the entire region. One legend comes down, sometimes ascribed to these peoples and other times said to have come from another source, that the trees are alive. That is to say, that the trees hold a sort of consciousness. As the legend goes, certain trees have the ability to communicate with humans. Of course, humans are unable to talk back, at least not directly, but the trees can, if they choose, make things known to humans by somehow putting thoughts into their heads. As the legend tells it, the trees are very selective in their use of this ability, which accounts for the fact that it is not a well-known occurance.

Andy always remembered his reaction on hearing that disclaimer. Shaking his head, rolling his eyes, he had simply muttered in his usual cynical fashion, "Naturally. Of course. That's obvious." Still, from time to time, the seeds of curiousity planted, he would wonder just how much fact there really might be to the tale. There were even times in his life when he thought he could hear one certain tree wisper to him. When that happened, he simply shook the thought and silently questioned his sanity.

But how does one account for the scores of scripts spoken over the years by ones-to-be? Perhaps they had all watched the same episodes of Dr. Phil. Maybe they all subscribed to the same women's advice magazines. Or maybe, just maybe, they were all seeing the same signs from he and Jill that the two friends were missing.

It didn't matter now. He was in west Texas and she was still in the deep south. That was that and it was time to move on.