It is a dry year. All the ranchers agree. They measure rain in tenths of inches and report each one that arrives. Surprisingly in this time of drought, the grass along the little fishing stream in the Castles was some of the tallest I have ever seen. Big Grass. Standing where it reached my chest, I spread my arms and brushed the seed tassels with my fingers. It was a fluid plain all around me, rolling in an unpredictable tide. I wanted to stand still and become part of the grass, but my fishing teacher had moved on and disappeared as the grass closed over his head. I followed, but first reached down and plucked one blade to bring home for drawing. Rufus returned with 8 brook trout and I returned with one blade of grass exactly 7 feet tall.
