The Morning Mist and the Sleeping Hills

High above the valley, where the wildflowers yawned and stretched in their meadow beds, lived a little cloud of morning mist named Jamie.

Jamie wasn’t like the big, puffy clouds that sailed across the afternoon sky. Oh no! Jamie was soft and silvery, made of a thousand tiny water droplets that sparkled like floating diamonds when the first rays of sun peeked over the mountains.

Every evening, as the world grew quiet and sleepy, Jamie would drift down from the sky to tuck in the hills for the night. This was Jamie’s very special job, and it was the job Jamie loved most in all the world.

“Time for bed, Little Hills,” Jamie would whisper, spreading out like a gentle, gauzy blanket across the valley.

The hills—there were seven of them—were the best friends anyone could ask for. There was Humphrey, the round hill covered in clover. There was Bella, who wore a crown of birch trees. There was little Pip, the smallest hill, who was always giggling when the wind tickled the grass on his slopes. And there were the others: Maple, Willow, Stone, and Grand Old Hawthorn, who was the eldest and wisest of them all.

Each night, Jamie would visit every hill with the same loving care.

First, Jamie floated to Humphrey. “How was your day, dear Humphrey?” Jamie asked.

“Oh, Jamie!” Humphrey rumbled contentedly. “Three rabbits played leapfrog on my southern slope, and a family of deer rested in my shade. It was a perfectly lovely day.”

“Then you deserve a perfectly lovely rest,” Jamie said, wrapping around Humphrey like a soft, cool blanket. Soon, Humphrey’s breathing grew deep and steady—whoooosh, whooooosh—like the gentlest of winds.

Next, Jamie drifted to Bella, who was humming a quiet tune through her birch trees.

“Bella, are you ready for sleep?” Jamie asked.

“Almost,” Bella sighed. “But the stars are so pretty tonight, I want to watch them just a little longer.”

Jamie smiled—or at least, did what mist does that’s very much like smiling. “I’ll tell you a secret,” Jamie whispered. “If you close your eyes and dream, you can see even MORE stars, stars that dance and stars that sing.”

“Really?” Bella asked, her voice growing drowsy.

“Really and truly,” Jamie promised, settling softly around her birch trees.

Bella’s leaves rustled one last time, then fell perfectly still. She was dreaming of dancing stars.

Little Pip was always the silliest at bedtime. When Jamie arrived, Pip was still wiggling.

“I’m not sleepy! Not even a tiny bit!” Pip announced, though his grass was already drooping with tiredness.

“Not sleepy?” Jamie asked, swirling playfully around him. “Not even if I tell you about the moon mice?”

Pip’s interest perked up immediately. “Moon mice? What are moon mice?”

“They’re the teeniest, tiniest mice that live on the moon,” Jamie explained, settling down around Pip’s slopes. “And every night, they tiptoe across the moon’s surface, and their tiny feet make the moon glow brighter and brighter. But they only come out when little hills are fast asleep.”

“Oh!” Pip said, his voice already fading. “I’d better sleep then… so the moon mice… will…”

And just like that, Pip was dreaming.

Jamie visited Maple, who smelled of autumn even in spring. Then Willow, whose slope was always damp and cool and perfect for ferns. Then Stone, whose rocky face was softened by cushions of moss.

Finally, Jamie came to Grand Old Hawthorn, the eldest hill, who was covered in an ancient hawthorn tree that bloomed white flowers in the spring.

“Hello, young Jamie,” Grand Old Hawthorn said warmly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Am I late?” Jamie asked, worried.

“Not at all,” Grand Old Hawthorn chuckled, a sound like pebbles rolling down a gentle stream. “I simply enjoy our evening chats.”

Jamie settled around the old hill like a cherished shawl.

“Tell me, Jamie,” Grand Old Hawthorn said, “what did you see today while you floated up in the sky?”

Jamie thought for a moment. “I saw the sun paint the clouds pink and orange. I saw a hawk teaching her babies to fly. I saw the river singing its way to the sea. And I saw all of you, my dear hills, holding up the whole world.”

“We do no such thing,” Grand Old Hawthorn laughed gently.

“But you do!” Jamie insisted. “You hold the trees and the flowers. You hold the rabbits and deer and all the little creatures. You hold the memories of every sunrise and every sunset. You hold everything that matters.”

Grand Old Hawthorn was quiet for a moment. “You know, Jamie, you’re quite wise for such a young mist.”

“I learned from you,” Jamie said softly.

As Grand Old Hawthorn’s breathing grew slow and peaceful, Jamie spread out across the entire valley, watching over all seven sleeping hills. From above, Jamie looked like a silver blanket tucked lovingly across the land, dotted with the dark shapes of sleeping hills underneath.

But here’s the secret that Jamie knew, and that Grand Old Hawthorn knew, and that perhaps you know too:

The morning mist doesn’t just tuck the hills in at night. The morning mist also protects their dreams, keeping them safe and cozy until the sun arrives to wake them with warm golden rays.

And when morning came, as it always did, Jamie would slowly rise up, up, up into the sky, evaporating into the warmth of the day. The hills would wake, refreshed and ready for a new day of holding up the world.

But Jamie would never be gone for long.

Because every single evening, when the world grew quiet and sleepy once more, Jamie would come drifting back down to the valley, ready to tuck in the seven hills with the same gentle care as always.

“Time for bed, Little Hills,” Jamie would whisper.

And the hills would smile in their sleep, knowing their friend was near.

The End

Sleep tight, little one. May your dreams be as peaceful as the sleeping hills, and may you always have someone to tuck you in with love, just like Jamie and the hills.

• Tags:
• Nature and Calm Stories