another name, but we’ve always called them foxtails.
(Unrelated Side Note: Grass by another name still must be mowed.)
Their silken strands were irresistibly close to hand during childhood field walks. Even now, I find their smooth texture and subtle shimmer mesmerising. Diving into this childlike wonder, I stop to admire their quiet movement in the breeze, and stoop to gently pull the glossy tails through my grasp.