Come dawn, both baby monkey woke to a world still wrapped in silver mist. The night had been long and cool, and the forest breathed slowly as the first pale light slipped through the tall trees. Dew clung to every leaf, sparkling like tiny stars, and the air smelled fresh with earth and rain. High on a thick branch, two tiny bodies stirred, pressed close together for warmth.
They were small—so small that their fingers looked like delicate twigs curled around their mother’s fur. The older one opened his eyes first, dark and curious, blinking as the sky slowly changed color. Beside him, the younger baby monkey slept on, his chest rising and falling in soft, uneven breaths. He let out a quiet squeak, as if dreaming of milk and comfort.
Their mother shifted gently, careful not to wake them too suddenly. She had spent the whole night awake, alert to every sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, the snap of a branch far below. Being a mother in the forest meant never truly resting. Yet when she felt the warmth of her babies against her belly, a calm strength filled her heart.
As dawn grew brighter, the older baby monkey lifted his head and looked around. This was his favorite time of day. The forest felt kinder in the morning, less frightening. Sunlight painted soft gold lines across the tree trunks, and birds began to sing, one by one, until the air filled with music. He reached out clumsily and touched his brother’s ear.
The younger baby stirred, scrunching his face before finally opening his eyes. He looked confused at first, as if surprised to be alive again after sleep. Then he saw his brother, then his mother’s familiar face, and his tiny hands relaxed. Safe. Warm. Home.
Come dawn, both baby monkey clung tighter as their mother began to move. She rose carefully, testing the branch before stepping forward. Her babies were still new to the world, and every movement mattered. One wrong step could mean danger. But she was strong, and she knew this forest better than any path.
She climbed down toward a lower branch where fresh leaves waited, still wet with morning dew. The older baby monkey tried to sit up on his own, wobbling and squeaking proudly. He wanted to see everything—to feel the morning air on his face, to taste the new day. His mother glanced at him, her eyes gentle but firm, pulling him closer with her arm.
“Not yet,” her touch seemed to say.
Below them, the forest slowly woke. Insects hummed, leaves trembled, and somewhere nearby another monkey called out—a reminder that they were not alone. Still, the mother stayed cautious. Predators also loved dawn. Hunger did not sleep.
The younger baby monkey began to fuss, his mouth searching blindly. His mother paused and gathered both babies close, offering comfort and milk. The forest faded away for a moment as the babies focused on the warmth and steady rhythm of her heart. For them, dawn meant more than light—it meant survival.
After feeding, the older baby monkey felt brave again. He reached for a leaf, fingers closing around it with clumsy determination. The leaf was cold and wet, and he pulled his hand back quickly, startled. His brother watched, wide-eyed, then copied him, touching the leaf and squeaking in surprise. Their tiny reactions made their mother’s chest soften with quiet joy.
Come dawn, lessons began.
She guided them slowly, letting them feel the bark beneath their hands, teaching them how to grip, how to balance. The older baby tried first, slipping slightly before regaining his hold. The younger clung tightly to his mother, unsure, but watching closely. Every movement was stored away in his growing mind.
The sun rose higher, warming their fur. The mist lifted, revealing the deep greens and browns of the forest. Somewhere below, water trickled over stones, and the sound calmed the babies. The older one leaned forward, curious about the noise, and nearly lost his balance. His mother caught him instantly, pulling him back with a sharp but loving motion.
Danger passed. Lesson learned.
By mid-morning, both baby monkey were tired again. Growth was hard work. Their small bodies curled inward as sleep returned, faster this time. Their mother settled onto a sturdy branch, wrapping her tail around for balance. She watched the forest while they slept, her eyes half-closed but alert.
Come dawn had brought light, warmth, food, and learning. It had also brought fear, patience, and love. In this fragile beginning, every morning was a victory.
As the babies slept, the mother thought of the days ahead. Storms would come. Falls would happen. One day, these tiny hands would climb without fear, and these soft squeaks would turn into loud calls across the forest. But for now, they were small, and they were hers.
A gentle breeze passed through the trees, rustling the leaves like a lullaby. The babies shifted closer together, instinctively seeking comfort in each other’s presence. Though they were different—one bolder, one quieter—they shared the same warmth, the same heartbeat of the forest.
Come dawn, both baby monkey had survived another night.
And in the quiet glow of morning, that was everything. 🐒🌅💛
