Nebraska is wide. Giant houses in the middle of nowhere. Teenagers in cars that are beat senseless pulling in at odd angles into a gas station parking lot. Crude crosses, shotgun shells in camping spots, and an odd rogue air and space museum that isn’t on google maps. The deserts of grass spill into Colorado in gentle waves.
The Rockies in Colorado feel sharp, looming, but never entirely static. Rocks slide down cliffs during a storm, flash flood warnings blare on the radio. The next day, peaceful clouds and I drive by a relaxed moose. They’re huge and infamously dangerous. I don’t stop, but I appreciate that they are there.
