i was peeling potatoes when it happened.

the water was bubbling into an angry boil, but i wasn’t ready to cook the potatoes yet. one of them had a stubborn crevice that sort of resembled a butt crack, and i couldn’t peel the thick, yucky skin out completely.

long story short, my knife slipped and i accidentally peeled the skin off of something else.

“shit!”

my kitchen sink is right by the window, so i guess that’s why it happened. while i was washing the blood off my finger, (and while the water in my pot was fuming) the trees spoke.

now, my mother didn’t raise an idiot. i _knew _that everything in this world has a language, everything speaks, everything communicates. even though witches are more attuned to various languages, we still can’t hear the more ancient ones. (like trees, for example, which happen to _hear_ _everything_)

but as i stood by the sink, cursing myself for not saving all that blood, i caught snippets. little fragments drifting through the window. glass is, after all, such a penetratable material.

..**_do you know why..

!! could you really if you had!!

…maybe life isn’t yours to decide, maybe if you looked into your heart you’d realize you are a worthless shell of what you once were…

_** all i remember thinking in that moment was that trees are _really_ judgmental.

and then the seriousness of the situation hit me. i could be the first witch ever to talk to trees, and maybe i could even find a spell to create connection with them.

no time to waste; i scrambled oustide, snatching my notebook and pens on the way.

as i stood there in the forest, among the trees, their voices overwhelmed me. it sounded like all trees did was put you down, or gossip.

i sat there, and i listened. after about an hour, i sure wasn’t any wiser, but at least i knew what was going on in the tree community, and _boy_ was it messy. all i can tell you is that if you ever meet a tree named roselyn, you had better steer clear.

finally i lifted my notebook and scratched up a spell. if i could find someone to test it on, then i just _might_ become very, very famous.

the spell was simple enough; sharp steel, blood, skin, water steam, and a starchy root (preferably potato).

and that was when i remembered the boiling water.

let’s just say that my pot now very angrily sported a burnt bottom.