Word: greasewood
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...feel the cold shivers on my spine when I realize that I stepped within a foot of one of them, one that did not strike and did not rattle, but like a silent thing uncoiled at my very feet and crawled toward a hole in a clump of greasewood. I shot it three times and killed it. It had thirteen rattles on its stubby tail. I sweat now to think of that, how I started to brush between two clumps of bushes and saw it at my very feet, how I leaped like a man shot, backward and high...
Oldsters were pleased to learn, however, that young passion is not wholly dead. The author of "Kisses," who submitted 27 other poems, cried out: As the powerful wind pushes the cliffs And polishes down the canyons, Tears from sage and greasewood Their sharp and bitter odor, Flings sand in fiendish figures-I-thrill! I am mad! I am here! Take me-wild-drunk with delight...