The night is deep and black with tiny phosphorescent leaves, molds and bugs shining like stars. The night is as noisy as a thousand birds, but instead of chirps and whistles, there are the buzzes, clicks, and beeps of insects and the occasional hysterical cry of an owl or the deep loud hoot of a giant fruit dove.

Rivulets of crystal water
gush down the sides of my tarpaulin and
splash into pools of decayed leaves,
between roots of trees
in the emerald twilight of a rainforest.

The rainforest doesn't talk.
It doesn't need to.

It whispers
with a thousand stirring leaves,
"I am at peace."