All around me,
in lower places,
clear liquid cascades across mud,
sucks around small leafy plants
and leaps
into self made gullies.

In my sleeping bag,
under the frail plastic sheet,
I imagine myself a shrouded caterpillar
trying to adapt to a
more powerful world
than I once thought existed.

Never have I felt so vulnerable,
so tiny.

Forces beyond,
playfully display their power
in the sonic boom of thunder,
the random crash
of weak branches from above,
and the steady pelting of ripe fruit.

Old waterways begin,
first to trickle,
then to rush,
and finally
to roar
across the forest floor around me,
and I wonder
about the location and altitude
of my platform.

Rivers, in a healthy rainforest,
seldom rise above well worn flood zones,
I am told.

Easy to say,
but what if
my make-shift platform
stands in such a zone?

Slowly
the cacophony of sound
becomes a steady hypnotizing roar
and in helplessness,
I succumb
to the imaginary safety of
my nylon cocoon
and sleep.

Tomorrow,
bright colored flowers
will dance
to the songs of birds,
on a leafy canopy
under a warm drying
sun.