Moon Trail

⏱ ~4 min reading

If you wake up one night and look out the window, look carefully. Very carefully. In the middle of the dark garden, among the black silhouettes of bushes and apple trees, you might notice something unusual. A very thin path. Silvery. Almost transparent. It starts somewhere in the grass near the fence and stretches across the entire garden, right to your window.

This path is not made of stone. And not of sand. It is woven from the finest moonlight rays. The moon lets them down, like a spider lets down its web, and the rays fall on the dew, on the leaves, on the paths in the garden. And a delicate, delicate silver path emerges, soft as a silk ribbon.

It is called the Moon Trail.

Dreams walk on it.

Every dream is a little traveler. Imagine: a tiny figure, barely visible, with thin legs and wings as light as a poppy petal. Some dreams are in fluffy hats. Some are in raincoats made of fog. Some carry small flashlights with a firefly blinking in them. And some just walk around, illuminated by the same silver glow from which the path is woven.

Every dream must find its child. Its boy or its girl. Every dream knows only one small window in the world - the one it is going to today.

Some dreams come from the forest. They smell of the sap and resin of old pines, and carry with them the quiet sound of the wind in the tops. Others come from the river. They smell of reeds, water lilies, and the quiet croaking of frogs somewhere far away. Still others come from grandma's garden. They smell of ripe pears and the wood of a bench warmed by the day.

Every dream already knows what to bring to its child. One boy dreams of a big, kind horse galloping across a field. One girl dreams of a butterfly with blue wings. Another boy dreams of a warm house with pies. Another girl dreams of a little tree house.

Dreams come quietly. They take their time. They have all night.

But there's one little secret: Dreams don't come to everyone the same way.

If you go to bed at night with a kind heart—having forgiven those you’ve offended, kissed your mother, said a prayer, or simply thought, «Thank you for the day,» your dream will find you quickly. It follows a straight path, easily opens the window, lies down on your pillow, and whispers its quiet, quiet story in your ear.

And if you lie down angry, frowning, with your fists still clenched from resentment, your dream is waiting. It stops on the path and sits down on a blade of grass. It knows: you have to wait until your heart calms down. Dreams don't like to enter frowning windows. They are afraid that they won't be accepted.

So, little child, when you go to bed at night — first soften your heart. Remember something good from your day. How your mother smiled. How a kitten licked your finger. How sweet the warm bread smelled. Remember and give thanks in your mind.

And then - close your eyes.

And sleep is near. He walks. Along a silver path, between raspberry bushes, past an old wooden bench. He has a small flashlight in his hand. He looks at your window and knows: they are waiting for him there.

If you ever see this path in the garden in the evening, don't scream, don't call out to anyone, don't wonder out loud. Just smile. And think: "Hello, my dream. I'll wait for you. I'm lying calmly. I'm ready.".

And close your eyes.

Sleep will quietly, quietly slip through the crack in the window. It will tiptoe past your book, past your stuffed toy. It will climb onto the bed, sit down carefully by the pillow. It will look at you with a warm gaze.

And then he leans in very close, right up to your ear, and whispers in his voice, as thin as a spider's web:

"I'm here. I brought you a dream. Listen.".

And your nightly fairy tale will begin. You will see a garden where flowers bloom that are nowhere to be found. Or the warm seashore along which your mother walks. Or a big fluffy teddy bear holding your hand.

Dreams love us. Very, very much. They are our invisible friends. They know everything about us and will not tell anyone. They help us rest. They help us grow in our dreams. They are gentle and patient, like the best grandmother in the world.

So, little one, good night. Close your eyes. The path is already turning silver. Sleep is on its way. He is near. He loves you. Sleep peacefully.