Braiding Sweetgrass

sawing against each other, rocking in the wind with a hypnotic
sway. The lane forked off to the left and then to the right and
became a walled labyrinth without landmarks of any kind. I felt like
a rat in a Phragmites maze. I took the fork that seemed to go
lakeward and began to wish I’d brought my compass.
There are fifteen hundred acres of wasteland along this shore.
Even the sound of the highway, usually a good direction finder, was
lost in the swishing sound of the reeds. A niggling suspicion that
this was not a good place to be alone crept up the back of my neck,
but I talked myself out of being afraid. There was absolutely no one
here to worry about. Who would be crazy enough to come to this
godforsaken place? Who but another biologist, whom I’d be happy
to meet. Either that or an ax murderer disposing of a body in the
reeds. It would never be found.
I followed the track as it twisted and turned until I caught a
glimpse of the top of a cottonwood. I could hear its leaves in the
distance, an unmistakable sound. It was a welcome landmark.
Another bend in the lane brought the tree into full view, a big
cottonwood with thick spreading branches that hung over the road.
From the lowest branch hung a human body. Next to it an empty
noose swayed in the wind.
I screamed and ran, taking any path I could find, panicked and
walled in by reeds. With pounding heart I ran blindly on and on, and
then met the dead end of every horror movie. Here in a tableau of
terror stood an executioner with a black hood, muscled arms, and,
of course, a dripping ax. A woman’s body was draped over the
chopping block, her blond curls spilling from her severed head. I did
not move. And neither did they. At all.
A space had been cut from the thicket to form a reed-walled
room like a museum diorama with life-sized figures posed at the