I've come to deeply cherish time spend in the remaining grasslands across the Great Plains. They are incredibly special ecologies unique to North America, some of the most special places in the world, and it brings me immense peace to take them in. It's often said that there is nothing in the Dakotas, or Montana, or Nebraska, and I resent hearing this so much -- grasslands aren't nothing, they're teeming with life and eminently worth preserving and visiting. This is the view across the Painted Canyon of the South Unit of Theodore Roosevelt National park, from an overlook which, despite everything preceding, is essentially a highway rest area dircetly next to I-94. There was a single bull buffalo out roaming off in the tall grass (don't look too hard, you can't see him in this photo).