The Moon's Sleep Song

Every night, when the sun sinks wearily behind the mountains, the moon slowly climbs into the sky. First you see just its edge, then it smiles with its whole face. And it begins its work.

The moon's work is singing. But this song is not heard by ears; it is heard by hearts.

First it sings to the forest. The trees lower their leaves, the squirrels curl up in their nests, even the owl narrows its eyes. "Shhh," says the moon, "the day is over, you did well."

Then it sings to the sea. The waves grow small, they lap softly against the sand, the fish go down into the deep. "Shhh," says the moon, "you will swim again in the morning."

Then it sings to the city. The cars fall quiet, the windows go dark one by one, the street lamps yawn yellow. "Shhh," says the moon, "everyone has reached home."

And at last it comes to your window. It slips in between the curtains and sits on the edge of your pillow. It looks at you. It knows what you did today: that you ran, that you laughed, maybe that you cried a little, maybe that you learned something new. It saw all of it.

"Shhh," says the moon, "you were good today. You will be good tomorrow too. Now close your eyes."

You close your eyes. The moon keeps singing its song. Perhaps a dream begins: you are flying on top of a cloud, or talking with a rabbit, or just swaying in a soft, soft darkness.

The moon never gets tired. It stays there all night, watching over your sleep. In the morning, when the sun comes, the moon whispers to it: "They all slept, they are all fine. Now it is your turn."

Good night.