The Cradle of Starshine Dreams
Jasper the Cloud Fox collects children's dreams each night and brings them to Mother Midnight, who rocks them in the magical Cradle of Starshine Dreams.
- 4 min read
The Cradle of Starshine Dreams
High above the sleepy town, where moonbeams dance and play, there lived a little fox named Jasper in a cloud shaped like a bay. His fur was soft as cotton fluff, his eyes like amber light, and every evening just past dusk, he’d wake to greet the night.
You see, Jasper wasn’t like the foxes down below, who hunted mice and played all day in meadows soft with snow. No, Jasper was a Cloud Fox, born where sky meets dream, and he had the most important job you ever could have seen.
Each night when children closed their eyes and snuggled into bed, Jasper would collect their wishes, hopes, and thoughts inside his head. He’d dash from cloud to fluffy cloud, his tail a streak of gold, gathering up the sparkly dreams that needed to be told.
“One dream of purple elephants!” he’d giggle with delight.
“Three dreams of flying through the stars—oh my, what a sight!”
“A dream of dancing with the waves, a dream of singing trees, a dream of cookies big as houses, eaten with the breeze!”
Into his special basket—woven out of moonbeam thread—Jasper placed each precious dream as children went to bed. The basket glowed with silver light and hummed a gentle tune, swaying as he carried it beneath the patient moon.
But dreams alone weren’t quite enough (as Jasper always knew). They needed something magical to make them all come true. So off he’d scamper, leap and bound, across the starlit sky, to visit Mother Midnight in her tower way up high.
Mother Midnight was a barn owl, ancient, wise, and kind. Her feathers shimmered like the night, with constellations lined. She kept the Cradle of Starshine Dreams upon her tower tall—a cradle made of fallen stars, the gentlest place of all.
“Good evening, little Jasper,” Mother Midnight softly hooted. “What dreams have you discovered as through the clouds you’ve scooted?”
Jasper tipped his basket out, and dreams began to swirl—ribbons made of rainbow light that twisted, dipped, and twirled. They floated to the starshine cradle, one by one by one, and settled in like sleeping babes until the night was done.
Mother Midnight rocked the cradle, slow and steady, sweet. The stars that formed its gentle frame glowed warm with cosmic heat. And as she rocked, she sang a song in notes both low and high, a lullaby that traveled down from the expansive sky:
“Hush now, little dreamers, rest your weary heads. The Cradle holds your wishes safe while tucked in starlit beds. Rock-a-bye on moonbeams, wrapped in silver light. Your dreams will grow like flowers in the garden of the night.”
And something magical would happen as the cradle swayed—the dreams inside would shimmer bright, transform, and softly fade. They’d turn to stardust, sparkling fine, like glitter made of light, then drift back down to sleeping children through the peaceful night.
A child who dreamed of purple elephants would smile in sleep so deep, while stardust tickled at their nose and made them giggle-peep. The ones who dreamed of flying high would stretch out in their beds, with stardust wings upon their backs and halos round their heads.
Jasper watched it happen with a twinkle in his eye. He loved to see the dream-dust fall like snow from up on high. “My favorite part,” he whispered to the wise old owl nearby. “Making dreams come true for them before the morning sky.”
Mother Midnight nodded, her great eyes warm and bright. “You do important work, dear fox, here in the heart of night. Without you gathering their dreams, without this cradle’s rock, imagination couldn’t bloom, and wonder would be locked.”
Night after night, and night again, Jasper did his task: collecting dreams from sleeping children, filling up his basket. Through summer stars and autumn winds, through winter’s crystal cold, through spring’s first blooms and morning dews—the story’s still retold.
And if you listen carefully when tucked in bed tonight, you might just hear a fox-step soft upon a cloud so white. You might just feel the whisper-touch of stardust on your cheek, and know that Jasper’s gathered up the dreams you went to seek.
So close your eyes, dear little one, and let your wishes fly. Young Jasper’s waiting patiently beneath the velvet sky. He’ll catch them in his basket bright and carry them with care, to Mother Midnight’s cradle where the stars rock everywhere.
“Hush now, little dreamer, rest your weary head. The Cradle holds your wishes safe while tucked in starlit bed. Rock-a-bye on moonbeams, wrapped in silver light. Your dreams will grow like flowers in the garden of the night.”
And somewhere in the darkness, in a cloud shaped like a bay, little Jasper smiles and whispers, “Dream sweet dreams today.”
Sleep tight.
The End