To everything a season, and in our household, September is Yellowstone season.

It’s also my birthday, so I not only get to eat chocolate cake — I get to eat it for breakfast. And better yet, I get to eat it while sitting next to the pristine, tumbling Slough Creek.

And Sunday morning, I almost got to share my cake and coffee with a grizzly.

But it was a bear in a hurry. So many places to go and things to do!

A black blur, it streaked past our neighbors’ site, where eight campers were sipping their morning coffee and eating their cantaloupe.

Soon, our corner of the campground was a hub of activity, as campers with binoculars came from across the meadow to discuss the excitement and confirm — yes, it was a grizzly. One visitor spoke with a German accent, another with a Spanish accent. It’s another thing I love about Yellowstone — meeting people from across the country and the world.

I can’t think of a better ritual for marking my relatively short time on the planet than to be in a landscape where time is marked in epochs. Here, volcanoes exploded, dinosaurs grazed and glaciers rumbled, or perhaps thundered, through the Lamar Valley.

But like most of my fellow travelers in Yellowstone, I’m here to view not only geological wonders, but to seek out the magical array of wildlife from a safe distance.

So earlier Sunday morning, we had crawled from our sleeping bags into the gray morning light. Which direction to travel? We flip a coin. It decides left.

Within 10 minutes, we come upon a cluster of folks in layers of outfits, most of them equipped with powerful scopes. We pull over to chat. A kind man beckons us to look through his scope. He says he comes every weekend — one of the many volunteer wolf watchers.

Through the glass, we see two adolescent wolves — a black and a gray — tumbling and leaping together through the shoulder-high grass. A few minutes later, there’s a stir. The scopes swing to the left. A pack of seven wolves ramble dog-like, single file up a slope. Whoo! What a start to the day.

A short time later we’re back on the road. Perhaps it’s 10 minutes, maybe more. We stop behind two other cars. A bull moose breaks from the golden grass and sprints across the road — apparently in pursuit of an elusive lover.

This particular morning we’d meet bison, a lone coyote that turned to watch us, a bald eagle and a singing meadowlark; but no elk. They’re all down at Mammoth terrorizing tourists.

It’s fun to watch the people, as well. Adults and children alike, excited to catch a glimpse of the animals that make Yellowstone home.

Before we leave that day, I sit by the creek for a few minutes — just feeling happy and grateful to be here. I thank those with vision who saved this place.

It was a daring move by President Ulysses S. Grant to sign the Yellowstone Park Act in 1872, creating our first national park. Watching Congress the last few days, as it wrangles over Wall Street bailouts and postures for fall voters, I’m convinced such an act of generosity is beyond us — at least today.

Driving home, we pass a machinery graveyard outside Bozeman, a yawning gravel pit along the highway at Belgrade, and the march of homes across the landscape.

But for a few visionaries, Yellowstone could be this.

What a gift. Thank you.