The Moon Who Walked Slowly

The day is over... and the village is quiet. We lie down on a soft bed. The window is open. A cool breeze comes in.

Look up... there is the moon. Round and white, like a soft paper lamp. It rises over the hills. Slowly, slowly.

The moon does not hurry. It moves across the sky, one small step at a time. Slowly, slowly, the moon walks on.

It comes to the first rooftop. A little house with a red tin roof. "Goodnight, little house," says the moon. Its light falls on the roof like a white shawl.

Next is the temple. Its bell is still now. "Goodnight, quiet temple," says the moon. Slowly, slowly, the moon walks on.

A little owl sits on a neem tree. "Hoo... hoo... Moon, why are you so slow? Why don't you run?"

The moon smiles. "If I run, I will miss the rooftops. When I go slowly, I can greet each one. And resting is part of my journey too."

The owl blinks its big round eyes. "Hoo... that is nice," it says softly. Then it tucks its head into its feathers.

The moon goes over the old well. Over the cows asleep in the shed. Over the school, dark and still. "Goodnight... goodnight... goodnight." Slowly, slowly, the moon walks on.

Now it comes to our roof. Its light slips in through our window. It touches our pillow, soft and silver. "Goodnight," it whispers to us.

We breathe slowly. In... and out. Our eyes feel heavy. The sky is wide and calm. Slowly, slowly... we rest. Slowly, slowly... we sleep.