“…She told them of the apple-tree men - old apple trees who walked when they had a mind, and who needed to be placated with the first cider of the crop, which was poured onto their roots as the year turned, if they were to give you a fine crop for the next year. She told them, in their mellifluous Cornish drawl, which trees they should be wary of, in the old rhyme:
Elm, he do brood
and oak, he do hate,
but the willow-man goes walking,
if you stays out late.”
-Neil Gaiman, “American Gods”
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