I would be converted to a religion of grass.
Sleep the winter away and rise headlong each spring.
Sink deep roots.
Respect and nourish your neighbors and never let trees gain the upper hand.
Such are the tenets and dogmas.
As for the practice — Grow lush in order to be devoured or caressed, stiffen in sweet elegance, invent startling seeds — these also make sense.
Bow beneath the arm of fire.
Be lovely and do no harm.
by Louise Erdich