I saw the elephant again today, after nearly a week of deprivation. It looked to be in good condition—youthful, energetic, and surprisingly sprightly. Perhaps that’s what all that constant swimming does for an elephant. David Attenborough would know.
The elephant lifted up its trunk and trumpeted at me in a friendly manner, almost as though it recognised me.
I felt a rush of mawkish sentimentality, which brought tears to my eyes.
Impatiently, I dashed the back of my hand across my eyes and stared again. Yes, the elephant was still there, swimming round. And yes, it was still pink.