By early September, the tall grasses in the big field have all dried up and turned a glistening golden brown. Take any two of these thin stems and rub them together: the sound they make is barely audible. But when a stiff dry breeze blows across a field with countless numbers of these rigid stems, that small sound multiplies a millionfold.

In a few weeks the grasses will have begun to bend and wither, losing their crisp edge. Come, while you can, lie in the grass and listen to this chorus!