The Giraffe Who Looked Down at Us

You look up. And up. And there, at the top of the trees, a face is looking down at you.

A giraffe. Chewing slowly, ears out, long eyelashes, the calmest expression in the world.

It is very strange to be looked down on by an animal. You feel small in the vehicle. Then a bit silly. Then just happy.

The leaves rustle as it reaches for the next branch. Its tongue curls around the thorns like they are nothing. You can hear it chewing from here.

Then it peers out through the treetops at you again, as if to check you are still there. You are.

Then there is drinking. It is the one thing a giraffe cannot do gracefully. It splays its front legs wide, wider, then wider again, and lowers that long neck all the way down. It looks like a folding chair trying to sit on the floor.

It takes forever. It is the funniest thing you have seen all day.

It is also a reminder. Even the tallest animal on the plain has to bend down sometimes.

Then it swings its head back up, water dripping, and walks off like nothing happened. Dignity restored.