The morning light filtered softly through the ancient trees surrounding Angkor Wat, turning the forest floor gold. I had been watching the troop for nearly an hour when I noticed him — a tiny baby monkey who refused to stray more than a few inches from his mother.
Other young monkeys were beginning to test their independence, hopping between low branches, tumbling over roots, chasing leaves stirred by the breeze. But this little one stayed close. One hand rested in his mother’s fur at all times, as if contact itself was a kind of anchor.
When she moved, he moved. When she paused, he pressed his cheek gently against her chest. There was no urgency, no fear — just a steady need to remain near the one place that felt certain.
At one point, his mother climbed onto a low stone wall warmed by the early sun. He hesitated for a moment, studying the short distance between ground and stone. It wasn’t far. He could have managed it on his own. Instead, he reached upward. She lowered her arm instinctively, and he climbed against her, settling once again against her side.
Watching them, I couldn’t help but think about how familiar that closeness feels. In any corner of the world, comfort often looks the same — a small hand reaching for reassurance, a quiet understanding between parent and child.
The forest was alive with soft chatter and rustling leaves, but between the two of them there was a calm that felt almost separate from everything else. She groomed him slowly, carefully parting his fur. He leaned into it, eyes half closed, completely at ease.
There was something profoundly peaceful about witnessing devotion in its simplest form. No grand gestures. No dramatic moments. Just the steady rhythm of staying close.
As the troop began moving deeper into the forest paths that wind through the ancient grounds, he adjusted himself once more against her, secure and unhurried. And she carried him forward, as mothers have done long before these temple stones were carved.
Some mornings in the Angkor forest remind you that love doesn’t always need to b