Sleep in a silver cradle

⏱ ~4 min reading

Once upon a time, when the world was young, the Moon made herself a silver cradle. Not so that she could sleep in it herself. But so that dreams could live in it. All the dreams in the world.

That cradle stands high in the sky, among the softest clouds. It sparkles with a quiet silver light, like a lake at night. Inside, on a fluffy pillow, lie dreams - tiny, folded, like flowers that have not yet opened. One smells of warm bread. The second - of mother's hair. The third - of sunny grass. The fourth - of quiet rain outside the window.

Every evening, when it begins to get dark on the ground and one by one the small yellow windows in the houses light up, the Moon lifts the lid of the cradle. Sleepy birds fly out from there.

They are tiny, tiny, these birds. Smaller than the palm of your hand. They have fluffy wings, soft as dandelion fluff. Their eyes are sleepy, sleepy, with gentle eyelids. And each one carries a dream in its beak.

The birds fly down to the ground. Quietly, quietly, without a single rustle. They know every window. They know which child is already in bed and which is just brushing their teeth. They know who will like what kind of sleep.

One bird flies to Olya. The second to Myshka. The third to Sofiyka. The fourth to you.

It quietly enters through the window - so that you don't even notice. It sits next to you on your pillow. It folds its wings and looks at you with warm eyes.

And then he starts whispering. So quietly that only your heart can hear. Because your ears are already sleepy, but your heart is always listening.

A bird tells you a fairy tale. About a warm forest, where bunnies hide among soft ferns. About a gentle breeze that sways the ears of wheat in the field. About a river that quietly murmurs over the stones. About a mother who hugs you with her heart — even when she doesn't touch you with her hands.

You listen. Your eyes grow heavier. At first you can still see out of the corner of your eye the shadow from the nightlight swaying on the ceiling. Then you can't see it anymore. Because your eyelids have drooped completely.

Your breathing becomes even. Slow. Like waves on a calm sea. One-two. One-two. Your body becomes warmer, softer. The pillow receives you softly, softly.

And now you're already asleep.

The bird looks at you sincerely. She sees a slight smile appear on your cheeks. This means that sleep has come. Sleep has settled in you for the night.

Then the bird carefully gets up from the pillow. And does an amazing thing.

She collects your quiet breathing, your warm "mmm" in your sleep, your little smile - and puts it all into a new dream. Small, warm, yours. And takes it in her beak.

Then the bird quietly flies back. It flies up, to the moon. To the silver cradle.

The moon waits. It accepts a new dream from the bird. It carefully places it in the cradle, with the others.

"Thank you, little one," he says to the bird. "It's a beautiful dream. Tomorrow I'll give it to someone else.".

And so it happens every night. Dreams never end. They circle between children like sparks. One dream visited Olya, then it will fly to Tarask, and then to a little girl in a far, far away city that you will never see. But your dreams will know each other. Your dreams are relatives.

Now you know this secret.

Your dream today has brought joy to someone before. Maybe to a little boy across the sea. Maybe to a girl in the mountains. Maybe to a baby in the house next door. And tomorrow your dream will fly further and make someone else happy.

It's magical, right?

Now close your eyes. Listen to how quiet it is. Somewhere high in the sky the Moon lifts the lid of a silver cradle. Sleepy birds fly out. One flies straight to you.

She is already close. She is already on your pillow. She is already whispering.

Good night, little one.