The mountain road twisted like a serpent between cliffs and jungle, a ribbon too narrow for error. A battered tour bus, loud with laughter moments ago, now stood frozen—glass shattered, silence thick.
The cause of the stillness stood just inches away.
An elephant, wild and ancient, eyes deep with memory, had placed its trunk against the bus’s frame. No one moved. The windshield bore the crack of a first encounter—fear had met force. But beyond that, nothing. No attack. No charge.
Instead, the elephant simply stood.
Perhaps it had been startled. Perhaps it had been curious. But in those moments of motionless contact, the tourists on top of the bus, holding their breath like fragile glass themselves, realized something profound: the wild does not always mean danger. Sometimes it only asks to be seen, to be respected.
And as the elephant turned and disappeared into the green without another mark, the bus remained—damaged, but standing. A reminder that sometimes the greatest strength lies in choosing not to strike.
