Little breeze-powder

⏱ ~4 min reading

When the last pink glow fades in the sky and the first stars appear over the city, the quietest work in the world begins. No one sees it. No one hears it. But without it, the children would not be able to fall asleep.

This work is done by a small breeze. His name is Shshur. He is not like the big winds that sway trees and carry leaves along the roads. Shshur is tiny, like a breath. No bigger than a speck of dandelion fluff. He himself is transparent, slightly silvery, as if made of moon dust.

Every evening, when the sun sets, Shshur wakes up. He takes a breath of thin air, wipes his invisible eyes, and sets off. He has a long way to go. There are many windows in the city. And behind each one is a small child getting ready for bed.

Shshur flies in quietly. He knows how to get into cracks, into a slightly open window, into a fold near the curtain. Inside the room he stops and looks: is the baby already asleep? If he is asleep, Shshur smiles and flies on. If not yet, Shshur gets down to his gentle business.

The first one today was little Ira. Ira lay in her crib and couldn't fall asleep. She turned her head to the left, then to the right. The blanket seemed to her to be too warm, then too cold. The pillow seemed to be loose.

Shshur sat down on the edge of the cushion and looked at the girl with a gentle gaze. He knew what to do. He had done this hundreds of times with other children.

First, Shshur stroked Ira's bangs very, very gently. Not with his hand—he had no hands. He just gently fanned them. So gently that the bangs didn't even move—only the ends of the hair trembled from the caress.

Then Shshur remembered what he loved most about Ira. He looked into her little heart and saw the smell of lavender there. The same lavender that grew in his grandmother's garden. Shshur nodded to himself.

He flew through the open window, circled three houses, and ended up over his grandmother's garden. There, in the cool of the night, stood lavender bushes—purple, almost silver in the moonlight. Shshur flew over them, carefully scooped up their scent with his palms, and carried it home to Ira.

When he returned, the girl was still stirring. But as soon as Shshur released a lavender scent over her pillow, Ira froze. Her nose reached for the familiar scent. She took a deep, deep breath. Then again. And again.

The eyes grew heavy. The eyelid drooped—first the right, then the left. The little fingers that had been gripping the blanket slowly relaxed. The breathing became even and deep, like the sea at dawn.

Shshur sat nearby for a little longer to make sure that the dream wouldn't get scared and fly away. And when he saw that Ira was sleeping soundly and sweetly, he quietly, on the very tips of his fluffy tail, slipped out through the window.

Further, other windows awaited him. In the house across the street, a boy named Tarasik slept—Shshur brought him the smell of warm milk and honey. In the next apartment, little Sofiyka slept—she caught the smell of her father's sweater. In the house near the park, little Andriyko lay—Shshur found a sprig of night violets for him in the garden.

Yes, from window to window, Shshur flew around the whole city. Hundreds of children. Hundreds of little pillows. Hundreds of warm blankets. He never got tired. Because when Shshur saw a baby falling asleep peacefully, a light came on inside him - as if someone had turned on a small light.

Shshur never expected thanks. He didn't want the children to know his name. It was enough for him to see a sleepy face, even breathing, and calm little hands on the blanket.

And in the morning, when the sky turned bluish-gray and the first birds woke up, Shshur would return to his cloud bed high above the city. He would fold his transparent wings, close his little eyes, and fall asleep sweetly until the next evening.

If you find it easy to fall asleep today, know that Shshur has been somewhere nearby. He has already stroked your bangs. He has already brought you your favorite scent. He has already smiled and flown to another child. Good night.