The Eyes Have Seen an Enemy in the Brush

I was walking my dog yesterday down a long old street that I call Beatnik Boulevard, at the end is an ancient old tree, which is now covered in vines. I saw as the wind blew the vines up, the tree seemed to be swinging about, swirling an old blanket, like an old woman washing her clothes for her grandchildren, and then I saw something i don't think I was meant to see, at full sway I saw something tucked up in one of the branches, something white and fluttery. I went closer to inspect and deep in the tree's clutches I saw more white cotton like fabric. I looked straight up into the shade of that damp canopy and I found a little girl with long white pajamas laughing "Long John, Long John John . hahahaha" looking like she just won a million bucks and disappearing into nothing. I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to see it. I blame the vines for this mischief, the ancient old tree is surely dead.