⏱ ~4 min reading
Deep, deep under the root of an old linden tree was a small hare's hole. Inside it was warm, soft and smelled of dry grass, which the grandmother-hare had covered on the bottom in the spring. On this grass lay two people: the grandmother-hare and her granddaughter, the little bunny Sonko.
Sonko was small, gray, with one ear that always turned slightly to one side. All day he jumped around the meadow, sniffing young clover, hiding from the shadows of the clouds and learning to distinguish between a mushroom and a dark clump of moss. Therefore, Sonko must have been very, very tired by evening.
But he had one peculiarity: Sonko could never fall asleep quickly.
As soon as his grandmother covered him with a warm leaf instead of a blanket and silence began, thoughts would start to pop into Sonko's head. Lots of thoughts. He would start wiggling his ears and thinking about carrots.
«"Is that carrot I left under the birch tree still there?" Sonko thought.
«"Will the sun come out tomorrow?"»
«"Is mommy the sun already asleep?"»
«"And if I grow up, will my mustache be as long as my grandfather's?"»
Thoughts were racing through his head like little bunnies in a spring field. And they wouldn't let Sonka fall asleep.
Grandma the hare knew about it. She wasn't angry. She never got angry at all—not even when Sonko got all his paws in the mud one summer and then wandered around the hole with her. Grandma was old, gentle, with a white chest and kind eyes that smelled of grass and warmth.
Every evening, when Sonko started moving his ears, his grandmother would put her paw on his back and begin to sing softly.
"Sleep, my ray of sunshine," she sang in a low, warm voice, "sleep, my green blade of grass, sleep, my dewdrop..."
Sonko listened. And something in him gradually quieted down. Thoughts about carrots became slower. Thoughts about the sun became quieter. The ears, which had been standing guard before, gradually lowered—first the right one, then the left one, gentle, bent.
"Sleep, my spring flower," the grandmother continued, "sleep, my warm ball, sleep, my fluffy cloud..."
Sonja's legs were relaxing. His tail, which had previously been hidden under his belly, was becoming limp. His breathing was becoming even. Grandma knew a thousand such words. A thousand little affectionate names. It seemed that she could sing all night and not repeat herself.
— Sleep, my forest berry, sleep, my moonlit thread, sleep, my warm bread…
And Sonko fell asleep. Not immediately - gradually, gently, as if descending small steps, into a deep and warm sleep. Grandma's paw lay on his back. Her breathing - quiet, quiet - was nearby. And Sonko knew: he was under protection.
In the morning Sonko woke up as fresh as the first blade of grass after the rain. He jumped up, stretched, rubbed his nose with his paw, and looked at his grandmother.
"Grandma," he asked one morning, "why is your song so good? I've heard other hares sing too. But only yours puts me to sleep.".
Grandma smiled with all her might and leaned close to him.
"Because I don't sing with words, my little one," she said quietly. "I sing with love. And love is not heard with the ears. It is heard with the heart.".
Sonko thought about it. He thought for a long time. He didn't quite understand everything right away—he was still very small. But some warmth settled inside him, like dew on a blade of grass. And he remembered these words.
Years passed. Sonko grew up - he had long whiskers and strong hind legs. He had his own little bunnies - three fluffy balls, who also could not fall asleep quickly. Who also moved their ears and thought about carrots.
And then Sonko would lie down next to them, put his big paw on their backs, and begin to sing softly:
— Sleep, my ray of sunshine, sleep, my dewdrop…
He remembered all the words. They came to him of their own accord—because his grandmother had once placed them in his heart, and the heart forgets nothing.
And outside the moon shone softly. A small, sleepy cricket chirped in the grass. And three little rabbits, with floppy ears and even breathing, gradually fell asleep in their warm burrow. One by one. Gently. Peacefully.
This is how love was transmitted through dreams. From grandmother to Sonko. From Sonko to his babies. And it will always be like this, as many evenings, blankets, and lullabies as there are in the world. Good night.
✨ He who loves sings better than any orchestra ✨