Wild, small, alive.

At night, the treehouse floated—

At night, the treehouse floated—
suspended in a sea of stars and nightbird song.
The forest pulsed with secret life,
a thousand heartbeats threaded into one.

I slept between the roots of the sky,
while rivers flowed below.
Mosquitoes hummed warnings,
and fireflies mapped my breath.

There were no walls,
only trust.
No ceiling,
only constellations flickering through palm fronds.

And when fear rose like mist,
the forest hushed it
with a chorus older than language.
It held me—wild, small, alive.