When you’re small but still the king of the lawn.

Further along the path, a quiet rustling drew my attention to the grass. A Tammar Wallaby stood there, nibbling with an unhurried grace that seemed to mock the rush of human life. Its compact frame was perfectly proportioned for this modest patch of earth, as if it had been sculpted by nature to fit within this specific moment. The sunlight caught the soft gradient of its fur—earthy browns fading into muted greys—blending seamlessly with the landscape. It paused mid-bite, ears twitching slightly, as though deliberating whether I was friend or foe. I felt strangely honored to be acknowledged by such a creature, even if only as a passing curiosity in its day.