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Fiction by Jane (Cohen) Stinson
The Witch Tree
The high path up to the falls was still laced with
almost-melted iciness so he took the lower
path that climbed gradually up the back of the
cliff. The footing was surer, even though
walking it meant fighting the sharp tearing
branches of the heavy underbrush. Taking a fall
here could be calamitous. He did not intend to
fall and break part of his body so that he might
be trapped here to starve to death or be
discovered by a pack of wolves that would tear
him apart, piece by piece.
He might consider jumping from the height of the falls when he got there. They were high enough to guarantee a swift fall to death. He wouldn't even have to jump. He could just stand near the edge on a rock and slip accidentally into the relentless rush of the water to be swept over the edge of the cliffs, and then be caught up in the final scheme of things.
He might consider jumping from the height of the falls when he got there. They were high enough to guarantee a swift fall to death. He wouldn't even have to jump. He could just stand near the edge on a rock and slip accidentally into the relentless rush of the water to be swept over the edge of the cliffs, and then be caught up in the final scheme of things.
Part 1. Joe
Only a Christian, a Bible-Swinging, Hallelujah-Singing, Fall-On-Your-Knees-and-Beg-Forgiveness- Christian would have named them Baptism Falls. The Ojibway had named them Tettegouche which meant “falling water”, or maybe it was “high water”. Joe had forgotten most of the Ojibway language he ever knew. He moved lightly through the life burgeoning everywhere beneath his feet, hoping to avoid crushing any part of it, imagining the lushness of the greenery that would fill this place by late June. Patches of snow decorated shadowy places, untouched by the early spring sun, awaiting the shifting of the planet to a more advantageous position. The tiniest of white flowers promised to open fully by late-afternoon but Joe could not wait.
Only a Christian, a Bible-Swinging, Hallelujah-Singing, Fall-On-Your-Knees-and-Beg-Forgiveness- Christian would have named them Baptism Falls. The Ojibway had named them Tettegouche which meant “falling water”, or maybe it was “high water”. Joe had forgotten most of the Ojibway language he ever knew. He moved lightly through the life burgeoning everywhere beneath his feet, hoping to avoid crushing any part of it, imagining the lushness of the greenery that would fill this place by late June. Patches of snow decorated shadowy places, untouched by the early spring sun, awaiting the shifting of the planet to a more advantageous position. The tiniest of white flowers promised to open fully by late-afternoon but Joe could not wait.