The morning air around Angkor Wat carried a soft stillness, broken only by the rustle of leaves high above the ancient stones. I noticed the small monkey before I heard him—clinging to a thin branch, higher than the others usually dared.
He paused often, looking down, as if unsure how he had gotten there. The canopy shifted gently in the breeze, but he held tight, his small body pressed close to the bark. Below, the troop moved on, scattered between trees, their attention drifting with the forest.
For a moment, he called out—not loudly, but enough to echo through the branches. No one answered right away.
Time stretched in a quiet way. Then, from deeper within the trees, a larger shape moved upward with calm certainty. The tension in the air eased as the distance between them slowly closed.
The forest never rushed him. It simply waited, as it always does.
