You have to get older for that. For me this is all mixed with memories that
he doesn't have. Cold mornings long ago when the marsh grass had turned
brown and cattails were waving in the northwest wind. The pungent smell
then was from muck stirred up by hip boots while we were getting in
position for the sun to come up and the duck season to open. Or winters
when the sloughs were frozen over and dead and I could walk across the ice
and snow between the dead cattails and see nothing but grey skies