The Moon's Night Light

Once upon a time, at the edge of a quiet wood, there lived a little fox called Pip.

Pip had a soft red tail, a small cold nose, and a warm den under the roots of an old oak tree. Every night, Pip curled up in the den and tried to go to sleep. And every night, Pip couldn’t.

“It’s too dark,” Pip whispered. “The shadows look big.”

Pip crept out of the den and looked up. High above the trees, round and glowing, was the moon.

“Hello, Moon,” said Pip softly. “I can’t sleep. It’s too dark down here.”

The moon smiled, a slow, silvery smile. “Hello, little fox,” she said, in a voice as gentle as snowfall. “Come and sit by the pond. I have something for you.”

So Pip padded down the path, step, step, step, past the sleeping ferns and the dozing mushrooms, until he reached the pond. The water was still and shining. In it, Pip saw the moon’s reflection, as round as a plate.

“Look at me,” said the moon. “Now take a slow breath in…”

Pip breathed in, slowly, slowly.

“…and let it out, like a long, sleepy sigh.”

Pip breathed out. Hhhhh. His shoulders felt a little lighter.

“Again,” said the moon. “In, slowly… and out.”

Pip breathed in. Pip breathed out. A tiny silver light began to glow on the water, like a pearl.

“That is your night light,” said the moon. “It’s made from your calm breaths. Whenever the dark feels too big, you can make another one.”

Pip looked at the little light, glowing gently on the pond. It wasn’t bright. It was soft, and kind, and just enough.

“Thank you, Moon,” said Pip.

“Now, let’s tuck you in,” said the moon. “Follow the light home.”

The little light floated up from the water and drifted ahead of Pip along the path. Step, step, step went Pip, past the whispering grass and the sleepy owl, who gave a small, soft hoo.

“Goodnight, Pip,” hooted the owl.

“Goodnight, Owl,” said Pip.

The light led Pip all the way to his den under the old oak tree. Inside, the den was warm and snug. The light floated in and settled on the wall, glowing like a tiny star.

Pip curled up with his tail over his nose. He looked at the little light. The shadows didn’t look big now. They looked like soft blankets, tucked all around.

“In, slowly,” Pip whispered to himself. “And out.”

The wind hummed a lullaby through the leaves. The stream murmured. Far away, the moon hung high and round, watching over the wood.

Pip’s eyes grew heavy. Heavier. His paws grew warm. Warmer.

And just before he fell asleep, he heard the moon whisper from far above:

“Goodnight, little fox. I’m right here.”

And Pip, with his soft red tail and his tiny silver light, fell fast, fast asleep.

The end.