Whisp and the Gentle Breeze: A Cozy Bedtime Adventure

The gentlest breeze you can feel is moving at about three miles per hour. Last night, we watched little Twinkle the star sparkle from so very far away in the big, dark sky. Tonight, we’re going to feel the world much closer, with a friend who is even gentler than starlight. As the sun tucked itself behind the hills, painting the clouds pink and orange, a new little whisper of wind was born. Its name was Whisp. Whisp wasn't a great big gust or a blustery blow.

Oh no. It was just a tiny, soft puff of air, as gentle as a kitten’s sigh. It spun around once, feeling the cool evening air on its new self. The whole world was quiet and getting ready for bed. Whisp felt a little bit lonely and very, very small. It watched the bigger winds rush high overhead, chasing clouds across the moon. “What can I do?” Whisp wondered. “I’m not strong enough to fly a kite or turn a windmill.” So, on a tiny, silent current, Whisp decided to go on an adventure to find out.

It drifted down into a garden, where the roses were folding up their petals for the night. Whisp floated past them, careful not to disturb them. Then, it saw something small on a large green leaf. A little ladybug was lying on its back, its tiny legs wiggling in the air. It couldn't get up. The bigger winds would have just blown the poor thing right off the leaf. But Whisp... Whisp was different. Whisp drifted closer... and closer... until it was right underneath the ladybug’s little red shell.

It took a tiny breath—not even a real breath, more like a thought—and gave the gentlest... little... poof. Just enough. The ladybug wobbled, rolled over, and stood up on its feet. It wiggled its antennae as if to say thank you, and scurried away. In that moment, Whisp understood. It didn't need to be a big, strong wind. Its special magic was its GENTLENESS. A happy little swirl filled Whisp. It had a job to do. For the rest of the night, Whisp danced through the sleeping world.

It carried the sweet smell of honeysuckle from the vine and left it like a gift on a child’s windowsill. It found a single feather and rocked it like a tiny cradle. It rustled the leaves of a big oak tree, but so softly, so quietly, that it sounded like a lullaby. Shhh... shhh... shhh. As the first hint of morning light touched the sky, a sleepy Whisp found the soft, white puff of a dandelion that had gone to seed. It snuggled right into the middle of all those fluffy parachutes.

And there, safe and warm, Whisp curled up to dream of all the gentle things it would do the very next night.