When the Sun Goes Down

Polly meant to sleep, but the forest had other plans. As the last light drained out of the canopy, the rainforest did not grow quiet. It woke up. A whole second forest, the night forest, was opening its eyes, and Polly decided to stay awake and meet it. She tucked herself into a fork of a branch, kept her bright green body still, and let the dark come down around her.

First came the sound. Frogs began to call from every pool and leaf, then insects joined, thousands of them, until the air was one great wall of noise. It rose and fell like breathing. In the rainforest the night shift is louder than the day. Animals that hide while the sun is up come out to feed in the cover of the dark, and they call to each other across the black trees.

Then came the eyes. Here and there in the dark, small points of light shone and moved, the eyes of animals catching what little light there was. Polly stayed very still. Somewhere below, a pair of large eyes passed slowly and did not look up. She did not need to know its name to know that this was its hour, not hers, and that the wisest thing a small bird could do was watch.

Late in the night the rain came, warm and heavy, falling straight down through the leaves. The forest drank it in the dark. Polly pressed close under a broad leaf and listened to the water and the frogs and the endless singing insects, and somewhere in all that sound, without meaning to, she finally fell asleep.