Morning light filtered softly through the Angkor Wat canopy, settling on a quiet branch where a young mother paused. Her movements were slower than the others nearby, as if the night had taken more from her than usual.
Below her, her baby shifted uncertainly, small hands gripping bark that felt suddenly too wide, too unfamiliar. When she moved a short distance away, it wasn’t far—but to the baby, it seemed like the whole forest had changed shape.
The little one let out soft, searching calls, not loud, just enough to carry through the leaves. Nearby monkeys glanced over, then returned to their routines. It was one of those ordinary moments that passes quietly in the wild.
After a brief pause, the mother looked back. There was no urgency in her return, just a steady, knowing rhythm. She made her way closer, bridging the small distance that had felt so large moments before.
The baby settled again, pressing close. Above them, the canopy shifted with the breeze, holding both distance and closeness in the same quiet morning.
