Maya and the Sleepy Star

High above Maya's bedroom window, where the night sky stretched out like a great velvet blanket, a tiny star named Twinkle was having an unusual sort of trouble. Every other star in the entire sky was shining bright and steady — there was Sirius the bright, and Polaris the careful, and a hundred thousand others all twinkling in perfect rhythm. But Twinkle kept yawning enormous, sparkly yawns, and every time she yawned her little light flickered out for a moment. The other stars looked at her with concern. "What's wrong, dear Twinkle?" they whispered. But Twinkle was simply too tired to answer.

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Down in her bedroom, Maya pressed her nose to the cool glass of her window. She had been watching the sky for ages, the way she did every night before bed, and she noticed Twinkle's little light flickering. "That star looks sleepy," Maya thought. Just then, a small pink cloud — softer than cotton candy and edged with silver — drifted right up to her window. The cloud bumped gently against the glass, as if to say: "Climb on." Maya, who was a brave sort of girl, opened her window, took a deep breath, and stepped out onto the soft pink cloud, holding a tiny lantern that glowed like a captured firefly.

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The pink cloud carried Maya up, up, up through the cool night air. Past the rooftops of her neighborhood, past the tops of the tallest trees, past the friendly silver birds that fly only at night, until she was floating right beside Twinkle, who blinked at her sleepily. "Hello," Maya said softly. "I think you might need a little help going to sleep." Twinkle nodded — even her nod was tired. "I want to shine bright like the others," she whispered, "but I'm so very, very tired. I've been awake for a thousand and one nights." Maya smiled and pulled something out of her pajama pocket: a tiny pillow she had brought along, shaped like a dream.

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Twinkle curled up on the dream-shaped pillow, and Maya began to hum a gentle lullaby — the very same one her grandmother used to hum to her when she was a tiny baby. As Maya hummed, the other stars around them grew very quiet, hushing their twinkling so that they wouldn't wake Twinkle. The moon herself dimmed her lantern just a little. Even the silver night birds tucked their heads under their wings and slowed their wing-beats. The whole sky seemed to swing slowly back and forth, like the gentlest cradle in all the universe.

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When Twinkle was fast asleep — finally, deeply asleep — Maya kissed the tip of her little pillow and tucked a corner of cloud-blanket over her. Then her pink cloud drifted gently back down through the night, past the friendly silver birds (who were now snoring softly), past the tall trees, past the rooftops, and right back to Maya's bedroom window. Maya climbed inside, pulled her warm blanket up to her chin, and closed her own eyes. Up above, Twinkle slept on. Tomorrow she would wake refreshed and shine brighter than ever, but tonight — tonight she just needed someone kind enough to help her rest.

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