The West remains a mystery to us, and each year, when the final chapters arrive, I’m reminded of a book I don’t want to end. We spend the last days with bison in increasingly quiet landscapes. Yesterday, amidst the biting winds and the steadfast prairie birdsong, that old familiar ache landed in my chest. Our last hour was in the serenity of the bison at sunrise. It planted seeds of peace, and I pray they will grow into something worthy back home.
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