Under the soft morning sun, a tiny baby monkey spots me from across the yard. His big, curious eyes light up the moment he sees me standing near the shady tree where he likes to play. Without a second thought, he lets out a sharp, squeaky cry — his own way of saying, “Wait for me! I’m coming!”
His little feet patter against the grass as he bounces forward, arms outstretched in his wobbly run. He squeals louder with every step, calling for my attention so I don’t turn away before he gets there. His tiny tail flicks wildly behind him as he dodges a fallen branch, almost tripping but catching himself just in time.
He stops for a breath, looks up at me, and lets out another loud, impatient squeal. His whole tiny body trembles with excitement — this isn’t just a run, this is a mission: he needs his hug, and he needs it now.
Finally, he reaches my feet. Without pausing, he jumps up on his little legs, clutching at my ankles with soft, warm hands. He squeaks again, looking up with those wide eyes full of trust and love, begging, “Pick me up! Hold me!”
When I bend down, he scrambles higher, tiny arms wrapping around my neck the second he’s close enough. He presses his fuzzy head against my cheek, burying his soft nose into my collar. His squeaks turn into quiet coos as he snuggles close, tiny fingers clinging tightly like I’m the safest branch in the world.
For a few peaceful moments, the whole yard goes quiet except for his soft little breaths. In my arms, the baby monkey knows he’s warm, safe, and loved — exactly where he wants to be.
