Tula and the Ticklish Trellis — Every morning, Tula measured the canopy with her nose: three bites from the peppery tree, two from the lemon-sour leaves, and one polite slurp from the dew cups. Read the full story →
Every morning, Tula measured the canopy with her nose: three bites from the peppery tree, two from the lemon-sour leaves, and one polite slurp from the dew cups. The jungle smelled green and wet, and beetles clicked like tiny spoons in the bark. She liked knowing exactly where her big feet belonged between the roots.
Until one day, a vine tapped her chin. “Psst. Higher,” it whispered, and wrapped itself around a branch like a curly tail. Tula stretched for the new leaves, and because of that, she bumped a hidden nest of pollen pods. Because of THAT, yellow dust puffed over her snout, and she sneezed so hard that monkeys dropped three figs and a sleeping lizard landed on her back.
The vine wiggled with silent laughter. Tula narrowed one eye, then used her long neck to loop the vine over the tallest branch, making a perfect leafy trellis. Now the little creatures could cross the tree without leaping on her head, and the sweetest leaves dangled right where she could reach them. If you spot her nose near the branches, you’ll know she found the exact place her big feet belonged between the roots.
