"He crouched in the shade of the barn, thinking and mumbling, and the wind ripped the words from his mouth . . ."
The people are talking about budworms; they are talking
about aphids and thrips. Under the bluff at Dismal Rock,
there where the spillway foams and simmers,
they are fishing and talking about pounds and allotments;
they are saying white burley, lugs and cutters.