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Ten Feet Under the Canary Grass (Stories From the Whitewater Valley)
Ten Feet Under the Canary Grass (Stories From the Whitewater Valley)
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Ten Feet Under the Canary Grass (Stories From the Whitewater Valley)
Stories from the Whitewater Valley series
As the seasons passed, the grass wherever I walked was a shade lighter—not greener, a color reserved for newbies—but also taller, thicker, and deeper. It was like staring toward the ocean in search of the horizon; the grass had no visible end. When I walked away, 13 years later, I felt no desire to look back and see if I had changed, for I knew I had. My inner self was something I was carrying with me, confident and with my desires fulfilled. As I took my first step onto the highway, departing the trail at mile marker 45, I did so knowing that the grasslands behind me would forever be a mirror for my experiences.
As the seasons passed, the grass wherever I walked was a shade lighter—not greener, a color reserved for newbies—but also taller, thicker, and deeper. It was like staring toward the ocean in search of the horizon; the grass had no visible end. When I walked away, 13 years later, I felt no desire to look back and see if I had changed, for I knew I had. My inner self was something I was carrying with me, confident and with my desires fulfilled. As I took my first step onto the highway, departing the trail at mile marker 45, I did so knowing that the grasslands behind me would forever be a mirror for my experiences.
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