What you have to be able to do with your Modoc is what man has been seeking for a long time. To communicate with nature through the animals. Treasure it. The sounds of nature are its music, its lyrics, and it comes from all living things. The subtle violin whispers of the wind in the pine forest, the howling bassoon of the violent monsoon, the clarinet of the birds, the drums of the earthquakes and volcanoes, the cymbals of the lightning and thunder, the harp of the oceans, together they play God’s song—early morning dripping of water from a night storm, the songbirds in the meadow during the sunny afternoon, the owl, the roar of a lion, the evening breezes blowing through the trees. It is a true song. Not a story. Not a fable with a point made at its end. But a song that sings within and without all living things.

It was a lovely day. Summer was stealing some extra time while fall slept. White puffs of clouds hung in the sky with seemingly no interest in moving on. The rains had turned the countryside into a sea of green covering the hilltops. The slopes, spotted with groves of sycamore and spruce trees, caught the runoff and were a deeper green, with splashes of purple sage, the essence of the lush valley. The rainwater slowed and settled into the rich loam, and from it grew the emerald grass that carpeted God’s house, grass where the regal stage grazed. In the middle of the palace’s private forest flowed the beautiful Agra, a mystical river of dark blue water. It writhed through the forest like a giant serpent, angling through the trees, changing in width, in girth, never ending, sometimes multi-channeled, and splitting into many tributaries.

Modoc—the true story of the Greatest elephant ever lived