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A very light wind revealed a landscape (in which the grass was robust and articulate yet the trees were still leafless and the sky clouded with grays) as the background of a scene that included a middle school and playground with a few boys shooting baskets and a collection of little league teams at practice. With young fathers for coaches, their sons were still too small to be much at the game or even catch the ball when it came in their direction—all this exhibited in such a way that it was difficult not to somehow aggrandize the collected penises and how they tangled their lives and spread for decades into the minutely webbed future. It kept them from getting what they worked for and from what they dreamed of and desired so dearly, and also continually at bay with that consenting moment which could be the climax of their hunt—so much so that they were altogether indifferent to the run of low hills behind them which seemed pleasantly in consort and to promise them so much.