I knew a quiet man; he seemed so very old since I was so very young. He preferred walking to driving; he wore an old tweed jacket with mustard seeds in his pockets. He believed that the land will feed him and that good will prevail, and that the rains will come. With time most of the mustard seeds were lost; red sand took their place in his pockets. He would touch the yellow grass as he wandered. He still believed!