The morning sun had just begun warming the ancient stones of Angkor Wat when I first noticed Bessie climbing along the temple wall.
She was one of the smallest in the troop — curious, bright-eyed, and just confident enough to test her balance a little too often. The forest surrounding the temple was alive with sound: birds weaving through branches, older macaques grooming in patches of shade, and the faint murmur of visitors walking the outer paths.
Bessie moved quickly, hopping from one carved ledge to another. The temple stones, worn smooth by centuries of rain and heat, can look steady from a distance. Up close, though, they’re full of dips and narrow openings — places shaped by time.
That’s when it happened.
As she reached for a higher grip, her tiny foot slid on the angled stone. In one quick motion, she slipped backward and disappeared into a narrow hollow between two blocks of ancient rock.
For a split second, everything felt still.
Her mother, who had been sitting a few feet away, reacted instantly. She rushed toward the opening, peering down into the shaded space. The rest of the troop paused, watching from nearby ledges. There was no chaos — just alert focus.
From where I stood, I could see that the hollow wasn’t deep, but it was steep and smooth. Bessie let out a soft, startled cry — more surprised than hurt. She tried to climb upward, her tiny hands searching for a grip along the curved interior.
Her mother reached down carefully, stretching her arm into the gap. After a brief moment that felt much longer than it was, Bessie found enough traction to push herself upward. With a gentle pull and determined wiggle, she emerged, clinging tightly to her mother’s chest.
The entire episode lasted less than a minute.
Yet it lingered.
In the United States, many parents know the feeling of watching a child stumble — whether it’s a missed step on a playground ladder or a fall from a bike. There’s that instant of held breath. Then relief. Then the quiet understanding that small slips are part of growing up.
Bessie didn’t retreat after that. Once settled, she looked back at the stone hollow with cautious curiosity. A few minutes later, she resumed climbing — this time slower, more deliberate.
The ancient walls of Angkor have stood for centuries, witnessing countless seasons of life unfolding around them. That morning, they witnessed something simple and universal: a young one learning about balance.
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As the sun climbed higher and the troop moved into the trees, Bessie stayed close to her mother for a while. But before long, curiosity tugged her forward again.
And the forest, patient as ever, made room for one more lesson.
