A. and I drove my mother to Estes Park, down in Colorado, to buy some saltwater taffy. On the interstate we saw, from far away, in the fields to the side of the highway, some pronghorn and some bison and, when we were very near to Estes Park, on a local road that did not have much traffic, so that you could drive slowly and stop for a while on the gravel shoulder, to observe them at your leisure, a herd of elk that had wandered down from wherever they usually are, in the mountains, to graze on whatever scrub grass happened to be growing there.