A single leaf from internode wraps, protects a tender stem, leans out to catch the sun. Efficient, simple structure, entwines the neighbors’ roots, sways to wind and rain. East of piney Rockies, west of hardwood Ozarks, Grassland rules the Plain. Buffalo trampled, cattle shaved, entombed by plow and road resilient grass comes creeping back. A lesson rhizomes teach: without its gripping roots, a bare and sterile dustbowl. Today they’re clipping seeds in windy western Kansas taking in the winter wheat, filling world trade centers, skyscrapers on the plain, a gift of grassy grain, Like an ant beside a cola can, I pedal past the Grigston Co-Op in awe of mother grass.