Poor monkey falling down

In the heart of a dense jungle, where vines swing like nature’s trapeze and sunlight dances through leaves, lived a little monkey named Miko. Small, scruffy, and curious beyond reason, Miko had a habit of climbing higher than any of his siblings dared. He believed the tallest tree held secrets—golden bananas, maybe, or a view of the whole world.

One morning, Miko spotted a massive tree towering above the canopy. Its leaves shimmered in the sun like emeralds. Without a second thought, he scurried up. Higher and higher he went, giggling with excitement, until the ground was a blur below. The wind whistled past his ears. He reached a branch that seemed to touch the clouds.

Then, a crack.

The old branch, dry and brittle, gave way. Miko’s tiny hands clawed at the air. Down he plummeted, tumbling through leaves, smacking into branches, spinning helplessly like a falling star. Birds scattered. Monkeys shrieked.

Thud.

Miko landed in a pile of leaves and moss, dazed and aching. His fur was ruffled, his pride more bruised than his body. Above, the great tree swayed silently, almost mockingly.

For a moment, Miko just lay there. A tear welled in his eye—not from pain, but from shame. He wasn’t brave anymore. Just a poor monkey who fell.

But then, from nearby trees, his family came rushing. They didn’t laugh. They didn’t scold. They picked him up, brushed the dirt off, and hugged him tight.

"Next time," his older brother grinned, "maybe don’t climb the sky."

Miko chuckled through the tears. He had fallen, yes. But he’d also learned: even the bravest monkey needs to be careful—and that someone will always catch you, one way or another.