The giraffe moves languidly. She is never in a hurry. Life is reduced to little more than its essentials: procuring food, eating it, drinking water, sleeping. This is not a bad thing, to those of us whose to-do lists look ridiculous when scrutinized. (But who besides the giraffe has room in the day for scrutiny?)
There is time to find a patch of sunlight and find bliss in the warmth it generates. If there isn't, make time.
There may be a calf — all evidence suggests it — but it will arrive in due course. Nature has a way of working itself out.
Every now and then, why not break into a run? Kick up the dust a bit?
Eating is pleasurable indeed. Chewing the cud is only slightly less pleasurable.
When times are difficult, watching giraffes is mesmerizing precisely because they neither know nor care about the state of the union. They persist. Children managed to be born in concentration camps, despite everything.
Giraffes never look bored because they are never bored.
There is a sameness to physical and emotional intimacy across species that is both reassuring and liberating.
Giraffe calves stand within an hour of their birth and run within a day. This is an inspiring timetable.
Mothers instinctively know how to mother. Mothering well may consist of shedding all of the layers that bury instinct.
Nursing on demand is a no-no in the giraffe world.
Humans could touch noses with greater regularity and be happier for it.
This (all of it) was never only about giraffes, but then you knew that.