Night Under the Fronds

Curled tight beneath the woven palm ribs... *khhh*... I listened to the thicket cool down. A soft skitter overhead made me hold my breath. Above my snout, the green lattice dipped slightly under a faint weight. Slowly... on silent elbows, I reached one claw upward. *Click.* My sharp nail flicked the underside of the central bamboo rib. The tremor ran clean through the weave, dislodging a fat, fuzzy night moth that fluttered up into the dark. The fronds sprang back, snug and dry. I pulled my shaggy fringes closer against the balsa bark, letting the quiet settle over my new roof.