Photo credit: Zac Mills, the Wildlife Collective
This is a guest blog from SOS Ambassador Zac Mills, The Wildlife Collective.
The forest stirs slowly to life around me: the whoop of gibbons in the distance, the hum of cicadas, and the soft patter of water dripping from the canopy. Then I hear it, a quiet rustle high above.
It’s Ratna. I first met her back in 2015, and seeing her again always feels like reconnecting with an old friend. She’s just waking up in her nest, a carefully woven bed of branches and leaves that she built last night. Orangutans make a new nest every evening, a small ritual of care and craftsmanship that never ceases to amaze me. She bends fresh branches into a sturdy base, then lines it with soft leaves, creating a cradle that will last her just one night.
Now, in the soft gold of morning, Ratna stirs. Her baby clings to her chest, still half-asleep, his tiny fingers curled in her long auburn fur. She lingers in stillness, watching the forest wake beneath her. Then, with the slow grace of someone who’s never known hurry, she begins to move: one branch, one reach, one deliberate step at a time.
During the day, she moves steadily through the forest, guided by something that feels almost like a sixth sense. Her mental map of this landscape is extraordinary. She knows exactly which trees are fruiting, which vines will carry her safely across, and which routes will lead her to tomorrow’s meal. It’s an ancient intelligence, shaped by memory and instinct. Watching her navigate is like watching the forest itself think, quiet, intentional, endlessly aware.
The sound of her movement is soft: leaves brushing, branches bending, a faint thud of fruit falling to the ground below. When she finds a fig tree, she plucks the ripest fruit with care, tasting each one before sharing with her baby. The forest smells sweet here—overripe fruit, rain-soaked bark, and something alive that can’t be named. Between feeding, she rests, half-reclined in the crook of a branch, eyes half-closed, her face calm and untroubled. I could stay there forever, just watching her exist. No rush. No noise. Just life unfolding exactly as it should.
Photo credit: Zac Mills, the Wildlife Collective
But beneath the beauty lies fragility. Every tree she climbs could be one of the last in her home range. Beyond this green expanse, the chainsaws hum, a reminder of how quickly paradise can be undone. Still, here she is, alive and thriving, carrying her world forward in the only way she knows how.
As the day fades, she begins her evening ritual. She breaks off fresh branches, weaving them together in practiced rhythm, crafting another perfect nest for the night. Her baby curls into her chest, safe and warm. The forest darkens, the cicadas rise again, and the canopy settles into silence.
Every time I leave this forest, I carry that image with me: Ratna in her new nest, the jungle breathing softly beneath her. Being with orangutans has changed the way I move through the world. They’ve taught me patience—to slow down, to listen, to be fully present.
Ratna doesn’t just survive here; she embodies balance, grace, and wisdom born from living in complete harmony with her surroundings. Standing beneath her, I can’t help but feel she knows something we’ve forgotten.
That peace isn’t found in abundance, but in understanding our place, not above nature, but within it. And in doing all we can to protect these precious forests and the animals that call them home.
Warmly,
Zac Mills
SOS Ambassador
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