It was late in the afternoon as we climbed the last few paces up the dusty trail to Eagle Rock. We emerged onto the bald sandstone summit, and stood amazed by the panorama unfolding all around us. The sun was sinking low in the west, and the sky was the color of beaten bronze. To the east a broad riverbed lay several hundred feet below us. As we watched, a herd of twenty elephants emerged from the forest on the far bank and walked slowly to the thin stream of water still running in the sandy bed. The hint of movement in a dead Mashatu tree caught our attention, and the murmur of our conversation ceased as we watched a leopard move down to the river to drink prior to his evening hunt. Two shadows passed between us and the sun as a pair of Black Eagles used the last of the thermals from the rocky summit to hunt for the final meal of the day. We stood silently, awed by the majesty of this lonely place. Each person’s emotion was unique, but we all understood something we had not before. In this peace and emptiness far from home we had found a part of ourselves we thought we had lost. Nature held her breath.