They communicated among themselves. No problem. But understanding what the humans had in mind was a gift granted to few.
They had been together, three thousand of them, since their birth. Memories of the nursery faded after a few years in the outdoors.
When the hot dry summers drew moisture and a sweet aroma from their pores, bands of young men came with flashing knives to walk among them cruelly mutilating them at will.
Low flying helicopters fogged them with toxic or nutritious rain. Jackrabbits and coyotes danced among them in the dark. Skunks and gophers came and went. Yellow jackets made paper nests on their limbs and terrorized the young men with flashing knives.
There were just four of them who understood the humans, and on the day when the red pick-up came only one was close enough to hear.
``These are Birnham's trees?''
``Yep.''
``Sold them all?''
``Every one. He wants them off the field the week after Halloween.''
The two men drove off in the hissing heat.
``They're going to take us down!'' the tree whispered, ``take us down!''
The meaning was communicated across the field and a quaking wave shivered through the heat.
``Take us down!''
They had seen it happen. The gangs with chain saws. The binding down of limbs. The stacking in huge refrigerated trucks. The desecration, desolation of it.
``Take us down!'' they whispered as night fell.
``There is nothing we can do.''
A barn owl swooped silently low to scoop up a field mouse and swing away catching the moonlight in its wings.
``There is nothing you can do.''
It was Halloween when the witches came. They flew in like tattered rags on the first winter storm.
``This is it?'' they asked, ``This is Birnham Wood?''
``No. This is Birnhams tree field,'' the trees answered.
``Never mind,'' the witches answered, ``its time for you to move to Dunsinane.''
``Dunsinane?''
``Up on the Clackamas. Follow us.''
The witches swirled and shrieked into the air and the trees all followed, their roots shaking dirt out in a pebbled rain below them. They flew in a ribbon through the stormy dark and they landed on Dunsinane Ridge above the dark Clackamas and their roots sank gratefully back into the earth.