Gorilla so smart
In the quiet morning of the forest, a gorilla watched the world with patient eyes. He learned by listening: birds announced rain, leaves whispered paths, and echoes warned of danger. When fruit was hidden high in the canopy, he stacked fallen logs, testing balance, adjusting angles, smiling softly at success. He
remembered seasons, sharing ripe figs with youngsters, teaching them which vines bend and which snap. When traps appeared near the river, he studied human patterns, timing footsteps, leading his family another way. Intelligence was not loud; it was careful. He comforted the injured with gentle hands, cleaned wounds with water, and waited. At dusk he traced constellations between branches,
navigating home by stars glimpsed through green. Play sharpened his mind: games of mimicry, puzzles of knots, laughter rolling like drums. In storms he sheltered others first, planning warmth and safety. The forest thrived because he chose wisely, day after day. To call the gorilla strong missed the point. Strength served thought. Memory guided muscle. Curiosity guided courage. In every choice—patient, inventive, kind—the gorilla proved smart in ways the forest understood, and the future followed. Quiet wisdom, shared generously, turned survival into harmony for all who watched nearby together always.
