Those with antennae to the ground heard them coming months in advance. Drawing near, the thundering, trumpeting and pounding of the pachyderm feet was like a dry thunderstorm. All of us: ants, mice and small creatures of the forest scurried for cover and got into position for the passing. When the train was just abreast, we shouted our annual refrain,” We are here! We are here! We are here! We are here! WE ARE HERE!”
The train moved on without hearing. When well past, we moved back to the trail they left to gather the fruits of the great annual passing. Broken branches, the smell of the trampled grass, pools of water filled with mud settling. They always left enough for us to make it through another year. It had always been so. The trail left behind made it easier going in some places. But sometimes it took us where we did not want to go.
But wait, there is news! a thundering herd of donkeys has joined the annual migration. Word is, it will be better next time around. We are hoping that all those very large ears will hear us. We’re hoping they take the oxbow out of the trail this year. We are hoping, we are hoping so hard.