Obie taking five year old Cecily turkey-shooting at the summer estate, but it's fall. Her hair like wheat, but not golden, just like the grasses, like the fall grasses that don't reflect light under an overcast sky, the rifle taller than her, and he gets down one one knee to help her aim and steady. There is a list of procedures about firearms, there is a little world of rules and mechanisms, of mannerisms and signals. It's organized. There are steps. She liked them already.