What can southern trees tell about the life and histories of African Americans in the United States? What dangerous happenings took place in the whisper of darkness under these trees, on their branches, against their trunks? What made their leaves on shiver and shake as blood watered their roots? As U.S. Black History Month begins, I am compelled to reflect on the recent loss of lives, livelihood, and dreams at the altar of isms. If the trees could talk, would they too stand in silent protest against the atrocities perpetrated against the Black bodies? Or, would they violently uproot themselves unleashing the sanctified blood of Black ancestors?