Stay Close to Mum

She steps out of the bush onto the red road, and right behind her, almost under her, comes the calf.

It is tiny. Well, tiny for an elephant. Its head barely reaches mum's belly. Its ears flap like it has not grown into them yet.

The driver cuts the engine. Red dust settles on your arms and the cameras.

The calf is not sure about the trunk. It swings it about, curls it, drops it, as if someone handed it the controls without the instructions. In the dry grass it practises on a tuft or two, and the grass mostly wins.

You laugh out loud and then remember to be quiet.

Mum does not miss a thing. Every few steps she reaches back and touches the calf. A quick check. Still there. Good.

Then the rest of the family drifts out of the trees. Big ones, young ones. They close around the little one without any fuss, a slow grey wall of care.

They cross the road and the bush swallows them. The leaves stop moving. Just tracks in the red dust now.

You sit there a while longer anyway, smiling at nothing.

Some sightings thrill you. This one just makes you feel better about the world.