" I walked across the two feet of drive to the lawn and stepped slowly onto the grass. It wasn't a wild grass, of course, but it was happy grass. Some variety of centipede, the mat
stretching across the open spaces, the leaves and roots and runners heavily steeped in time and good water and care and nitrates. It felt…satisfied, maybe, and very oddly, it also felt...snobbish, if grass can feel snobbish. My own mixed grasses at home felt useful, functional, and beneficial. "You are supposed to be eaten," I told the snobbish grass softly, "by
sheep and cattle and goats and geese. You are foodstuff."
"Nell?" Rick asked.
"Nothing," I said, walking away, the grass tickling my arches and pressing up between my toes. "Just talking to the grass. "

― Faith Hunter , Blood of the Earth (Soulwood, #1)