[5: plains or meadow]

I've always wondered what it would be like to walk through deep grass, as
tall as I am.  I read about the pampas, the endless stretches of grass in
the middle of Argentina. I imagine that Kansas once looked like that, too,
before it was divided into sections and planted with corn and soy and wheat.

Grass tall enough to get lost in, where you would have to stomp your way out
on top of a hill to get a view to where you needed to be. Rivers of
flattened grass make do for trails, leaving gaps only as wide as needed, and
quickly regrowing, erasing that anyone had been there.

Prairies like this get tamed with cattle and irrigation, moving water from
where the deep grass grows to where the soil is deep and can be planted over
and over and over. The prairie whithers a little, the grasses die back to
knee-high, and in places the barrens take over, nothing growing at all but a
few hearty twigs. Hilltops bare out, wind carves its niche more easily.