There are moments in nature that feel like they were meant to be witnessed—moments that touch the spirit without needing a single word. Today, deep within the ancient roots of Angkor Wat forest, I witnessed one such moment. Monkey Rose, one of the most gentle females of the troop, gave birth to her first baby.
It was quiet that morning. Only the early sunlight and the rustling leaves moved gently above us. Rose had separated herself from the others, choosing a flat stone beneath an old tree to rest. For weeks, her belly had been round, and her eyes seemed to hold both fear and courage. Today, she was ready.
Then it happened—a tiny cry. Soft, trembling… but powerful enough to change everything around it.
The newborn clung to her instantly, eyes closed, searching for warmth and life. Rose looked at her baby with wonder—the kind of wonder we humans instantly recognize. It was not just instinct. It was love.
She gently cleaned the baby with soft licks, and for a moment, time felt frozen. Around her, the other monkeys watched silently. Even the troop’s leader stayed back, as if understanding the sacredness of this birth. It was as though the entire forest paused to welcome this life.
Just as humans do, the first hour after birth was filled with hesitation. Rose didn’t immediately move. She stayed still, letting her baby learn the rhythm of life—her heartbeat, her breath, her warmth. The baby’s tiny hands reached up to her face. Rose pressed her cheek against them, accepting her new role: mother.
As the sun climbed higher, Rose slowly stood up. Her baby held tightly to her chest. She took each step carefully, as if carrying the weight of a new world. I watched her move across the stone, her shadow crossing ancient roots that have known centuries of history.
Something about this moment made me reflect on humans, too. Whether in a hospital, a home, or a forest—birth always carries the same miracle. It is a beginning, a promise, and a reminder that life continues despite everything.
As Rose walked, the wind passed through temples and trees, almost like a whisper: “You are not alone. This child belongs to the world now.”
Rose began nursing her baby. She looked around cautiously—to keep her safe. To protect her. To teach her how to live. That fierce love reminded me of every struggling mother back home… and how powerful love becomes when life depends on it.
What struck me most was how the troop slowly approached—one by one, with respect. They didn’t come to disturb. They came to welcome. To acknowledge. To protect.
By midday, Rose had found a shaded spot by the roots of a strangler fig tree. Her newborn baby slept peacefully. She looked tired, but calm. Her eyes no longer held fear… only purpose.
Watching her, I realized something:
Nature isn’t always wild. Sometimes, it is tender.
Sometimes, it looks just like us.
Sometimes… it teaches us how to love more deeply.
If you ever visit Angkor Wat, slow down. Listen. Look. Somewhere in the green silence, another moment like this might be happening—a miracle that nobody hears… except those who are willing to feel it.
https://youtu.be/ZidAmSbpFGc?list=TLPQMjcxMTIwMjWaCfj4Ksa52A
