Light touches the threads of grass protruding at odd angles from the ground, coloring and morphing it. No longer is it the green like the grass of movies and dreams. It’s orange like the very animal hidden beneath it.
Truth be known, it’s not just the grass that resembles the king of the jungle. The roads wind up and down, swallowing you whole and leaving you anxious and waiting. An experience which can only be comparable to a trip down a tiger’s throat.
Amidst the tigers and tiger-like things, a giant stone Vishnu lays waiting peacefully in a greening pool of water. He’s man-made, but it seems like eons since he last experienced human touch. He’s perfect and beautiful, even the tigers come to be at peace and drink from his pool.
I forgot or maybe never realized that India still possess pockets of the wild, wonderful splendor that use to be everywhere. I’m happy the park is so well-preserved, protected, and loved. And I’m grateful for the opportunity to experience it in it’s greatness (though perhaps not the apex).
But I worry about what the future will bring. It’s difficult to maintain beauty, as tigers have seen. And I can’t help wondering, will my kids be able to see this too one day?