The Night Wind’s Counting Game
The Night Wind carries Milo through the sky, counting sleepy creatures together until he drifts peacefully to sleep.
- 4 min read
The Night Wind’s Counting Game
Milo couldn’t sleep. He lay in his cozy bed, watching moonlight dance across his ceiling, when he heard a gentle whoooosh at his window.
“Psssst! Little one!” whispered a soft, swirly voice. “Would you like to play a counting game?”
Milo sat up and saw the Night Wind—a shimmering, silvery breeze that sparkled like starlight—floating just outside his window.
“A counting game?” Milo asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “But I should be sleeping.”
“Oh, this is a special counting game,” the Night Wind smiled, her voice like wind chimes tinkling. “It helps you drift off to dreamland. Come, ride with me!”
Before Milo could answer, the Night Wind gently lifted him from his bed, wrapped him in a warm, invisible blanket of air, and carried him up, up, up into the velvety night sky.
“Let’s count together,” sang the Night Wind. “Count what we see, and sleep will find thee!”
One sleepy owl perched on a branch, blinking slowly.
“Hoo-hoo,” yawned the owl. “Good evening, Milo. I’m counting my feathers to help me rest.”
Milo waved goodbye as they floated higher.
Two drowsy clouds drifted past, soft as cotton candy.
“We’re on our way to the Land of Dreams,” they murmured in pillowy voices. “We’ll be pillows for sleeping stars.”
The clouds looked so comfortable that Milo yawned.
Three tired trees swayed below, their leaves rustling a lullaby.
“Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh,” they whispered. “We’re rocking the baby birds to sleep. Would you like to hear our song?”
The trees hummed a melody that sounded like a gentle rainfall, and Milo’s eyelids grew heavy.
Four fading fireflies blinked their lights slower and slower.
“We’re dimming our lamps now,” they said softly. “It’s time for all good lights to rest. See? Blink… blink… blink… gone.”
One by one, their golden glows faded like tiny stars going to bed.
Five sleepy stars twinkled lazily above.
“We’ve been shining all evening,” they yawned. “Now we’re ready for our star-nap. Count us as we close our lights: One… two… three… four… five…”
Each star dimmed gently, and Milo found himself yawning along with them.
Six snoozing sailboats bobbed on a silver lake below.
“Rock-a-bye, rock-a-bye,” they creaked peacefully. “The water is our cradle, and the moon is our nightlight.”
Milo could almost feel himself rocking with them, back and forth, back and forth.
Seven sleeping squirrels curled in their tree house, their bushy tails wrapped around them like blankets.
“We collected dreams all day,” they murmured. “Now it’s time to enjoy them. Sweet dreams, Milo!”
Eight quiet crickets chirped their final songs of the evening.
“Chirp… chirp… chirrup…” they sang, slower and slower. “Our lullaby is nearly finished. Can you feel the sleepiness spreading?”
Milo nodded. He could feel it in his toes, his fingers, his nose—everywhere!
Nine nodding flowers closed their petals one by one.
“We fold ourselves up at night,” they whispered, “like little hands pressed together in prayer. We’ll open again when the sun kisses us good morning.”
Milo watched them close—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—like a wave of sleepiness washing across the garden.
Ten gentle raindrops began to fall, so soft they felt like whispers on Milo’s cheeks.
“Pitter-pat, pitter-pat,” they sang. “We’re the night’s lullaby. Count us and dream: One drop, two drops, three drops, four… Can you make it to ten before you start to snore?”
Milo tried to count, but his eyes were so, so heavy. “One… two… three… four… five… six… sev…”
“There now,” whispered the Night Wind, carrying Milo back through his window and tucking him gently into his bed. “You’ve done such wonderful counting. The whole night is sleeping now, and it’s your turn too.”
She smoothed his blanket and brushed his forehead with a breeze as soft as a butterfly’s wing.
“When you wake up,” she whispered, “try to remember: Did you count to seven? Or eight? Or nine? Or did you make it all the way to ten?”
But Milo was already dreaming—dreaming of friendly owls and glowing fireflies, of rocking boats and folding flowers, and of a kind Night Wind who played the most wonderful counting game in all the world.
Outside his window, the Night Wind smiled and swirled away to find other children who needed help falling asleep.
And somewhere in his dreams, Milo was still counting softly: “One… two… three…”
The End
(Sweet dreams, little one. May the Night Wind visit you tonight, too.)