Luna the Moonbeam's Nighttime Journey

The attic window was unlatched just a crack. A silver ribbon slipped through the glass, bright and feather-light. Down at the willow creek, Rory the river stone had settled deep into the cool, silent mud for sleep. But up here, high above the quiet reeds, a little moonbeam named Luna was just waking up. She stretched her bright edges across the velvet sky. Luna wanted to know where the night went when everyone closed their eyes. The older moonbeams stayed high, painting broad silver blankets over whole oceans and mountain peaks.

Luna wanted the small things. She wanted the whispers. Down she drifted, spiralling like a pale leaf through the cool evening air. She dipped first into a drowsy garden. Fat purple cabbages sat like bowling balls, dusted in cold dew. A family of field mice scuttled beneath a broad rhubarb leaf. Luna touched the tip of a tiny whiskered nose. The little mouse did not run. It merely sighed, curled its tail tighter, and tucked its head under a paw. Luna slid toward an old stone birdbath.

The water had turned entirely black, still as dark glass. She stepped onto its surface, expecting to plunge deep down into the cold. Instead, the water caught her and held her up. She spun around, turning the pool into a shimmering, liquid mirror. A sleeping robin stirred on a nearby branch. "Hush now, little bird," Luna seemed to whisper, brushing the red feathers with pale silver. The robin tucked its beak deep into its chest. Luna moved on. Every bedroom window she passed held heavy curtains, but she slipped along the sills.

She wanted to leave a gift behind, something soft to guide the night along. Yet every door was shut, and every chimney merely breathed out dying woodsmoke. Night seemed entirely locked away. Then, she noticed the oak tree by the bedroom porch. Its leaves rustled like dry paper in the slow breeze. Deep in the crook of two heavy branches rested a bundle of soft gray fur. A young squirrel lay curled in a neat, tight circle, twitching its nose in a dream about autumn acorns.

Luna hovered right beside the sleeping ear. She shone as gently as she could, turning the rough bark beneath the paws into pale birch wood. The squirrel gave a tiny shudder, then stretched out four paws, completely relaxed. That was when Luna understood. She had thought the sleeping world was hiding from the dark. She had thought the creatures curled tight to keep the night from touching them. Now she saw the truth. The garden was not hiding from the night.

The night was a blanket they had pulled up to their chins. The mice, the robin, the little squirrel—they were not waiting for the sun. They were resting inside the quiet she brought them. Luna felt her bright edges grow warm and soft. Her light stopped reaching out, spreading instead into a slow, milky glow that settled over the porch, the oak leaves, and the roof. She did not need to uncover any great secret. The secret was simply being still. Luna drifted slowly across the wooden sill, resting beside the window pane.

She dimmed her silver light to a faint hum. The world below was safe, dark, and perfectly at peace. And you can close your eyes now, too.