Vibrations from a few miles away, she could feel them through the big pads of her feet. An earthquake of rolling steel. “Are they getting closer ?“. She could sometimes periscope her trunk catching a whiff of diesel fuel. On windy days traces of other traveling scents, sometimes popcorn or food cooking, frequent hints of soaps and perfumes, lust and excitement. “The Big Show” is in town. The pads of her feet listening to the ground , “yes, they’re coming this way ”. The first ear sound, a prolonged moan from the horn of the beast nearing the county road whistle post. There’s a partial attraction to their antics, their music, even the tones of their voices. It’s not the Savannah, Nellie is a long way from home. Claire often jokes, “you’re not in Kansas anymore” . Marvel and spectacle, tickets for sale. Those men scrambling around behind her with brooms and pans, show biz. Big shows require big poop according to Nellie . The herds gather to watch in awe, mesmerized by the creatures. Crowds in main streets, concourses of townspeople lining up for their parades and gatherings under the big top .