There is a boggy marsh next to my house. It has something in it that I can feel in my hands just by the mere thought of them. Cattails.
They live in my childhood memory from the days of exploring the wild. We’d of course break the stem and sword fight with the stalks. And we’d twist them to reveal “cotton” as we used to call it.
I’ll tell you what hurts. A big cattail stalk whipped at your lower back from your idiotic friend who thinks it’s funny. Ahhh the memories.