Hello,
Dear friend.
I'm Anna.
I'd like to welcome you home to Whisperwood.
Come in.
And make yourself comfortable.
The kettle is warm.
The fire is glowing softly.
And there is always.
Comfortable chair.
Waiting for you here.
Whether this is your first visit to Whisperwood,
Or whether you've wandered these lantern-lit paths many times before.
I'm so very glad you found your way here tonight.
Outside my cottage window.
Evening is settling gently across the woodland.
Cork oak trees stand quietly beneath the moonlight.
The lanterns beneath the moon tree.
Beginning to glow.
And all across Whisperwood.
The day's adventures.
Coming to an end.
Mrs.
Pym,
Our friendly Robin.
Has closed the door of her post and provisions barn.
Sir Fergus Puddingfoot.
A rather browned badger wearing a waistcoat.
Has finished polishing his teacups.
Our resident cat.
Has curled herself up on her favourite cushion.
And somewhere.
In the farm meadows.
Oncorella.
Our favourite piglet.
Is preparing for bed.
But before we join them.
I invite you to settle comfortably.
Allow your shoulders.
To soften.
Let your hands become still.
There is nowhere you need to be.
Nothing you need to do.
The world can wait until morning.
Tonight.
You are safe.
Tonight.
You are welcome.
And should you ever need a little comfort?
A little kindness.
Or simply.
A place to rest for a while.
Know that my cottage door in Whisperwood is always open.
You will always be welcome here.
Now.
Take a slow breath.
And another.
And let us wander together.
Into tonight's story.
I invite you to leave the busy world behind.
Nothing to do.
Nowhere to be.
No problems to solve.
Just for a little while.
Let everything rest.
Take a slow breath in.
And a gentle breath out.
As your body settles into comfort.
Imagine that you are standing.
The edge of Whisperwood Forest.
Evening sky is painted in shades of lavender.
And silver.
The last golden rays of sunlight.
Have disappeared beyond the hills.
And the first stars.
Are beginning to twinkle overhead.
A narrow woodland path winds gently before you.
And waiting.
Beside the path.
Is a small pink piglet.
The black splotch around one eye.
It's on Corella.
She smiles when she sees you.
Not the excited smile of daydream adventures.
Quiet smile.
Reserved for old friends.
The end of a peaceful day.
Without speaking.
She turns.
And begins to walk.
And you follow.
The forest is unusually still tonight.
The leaves overhead barely stir.
Air smells faintly of moss,
Wild thyme,
And distant lavender.
Your footsteps are soft upon the earth.
And with every step.
Your shoulders feel a little lighter.
A little softer.
A little more relaxed.
Ahead.
Tiny lanterns glow among the trees.
Not ordinary lanterns.
These are the lanterns of Whisperwood.
Small golden lights carried by fireflies.
Dozens of them,
Perhaps hundreds.
Floating gently through the forest.
Stars.
When Corella watches them dance.
Then she whispers.
Tonight.
We're visiting.
The moon tree.
You continue along the winding path.
The fireflies guide the way.
And soon.
The forest begins to open.
Trees grow wider apart.
The air.
Feels brighter somehow.
As though moonlight has gathered here for centuries.
And there.
At the center of a quiet clearing.
Stands an ancient cork oak.
Called the moon tree.
The oldest tree in all of Whisperwood.
It's Trump.
Is silver grey.
Its branches.
Spread wide like welcoming arms.
And its leaves.
Shimmer softly.
Reflecting the moon above.
Beneath the moon tree.
Sits a familiar figure.
It's the Fergus Puddingfoot.
Because Sir Fergus believes that.
.
.
Every important gathering requires a comfortable chair.
If a chair isn't available,
He brings one.
So tonight.
.
.
He brought a cushioned armchair.
And sits peacefully beneath the branches.
A warm blanket across his knees.
His eyes are half closed.
His teacup.
Balanced carefully beside him.
Nearby sits Lily.
Our elegant feline.
Graceful as moonlight itself.
Her beautiful white fur glows silver beneath the stars.
She rests quietly among the wildflowers.
Watching the night sky.
Watching the clouds drift by.
Completely content.
Mrs Pym has arrived too.
Robin has closed the post and provisions barn for the evening.
She has tucked her tiny spectacles into her feathers and settled upon a branch overhead.
Even the village oracle deserves a little rest.
As the firefly lanterns drift among the branches of the moon tree.
Another figure appears at the edge of the clearing.
A small hedgehog.
His green coat is neatly buttoned.
His tiny spectacles sit perfectly upon his nose.
And tucked beneath one arm.
Is a rather well-loved noob.
It is,
Of course.
Algernon.
Peace.
Trimble?
Now,
Algernon.
Never likes to stay awake so late.
In fact.
He had been planning.
An extra early night tonight.
But somewhere between the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the oak leaves,
He remembered.
Tonight?
Is a special festival.
And so he hopped up.
And came to join everyone.
Gently.
Relaxing.
Into the beauty.
Of the night.
Algernon.
Settles himself beneath the moon tree.
Opens his notebook.
He listens carefully.
Whispering leaves.
The distant owl.
Soft breathing of his friends.
After several moments.
You realized.
Something rather unusual.
The most beautiful sound in whisperwood.
Wasn't a sound at all.
It was the peaceful silence.
Shared among friends.
No one speaks.
There is no need.
Because tonight is the night.
Of the lantern.
A Whisperwood tradition.
Once every month.
The forest gathers beneath the moon tree.
Not to celebrate.
Not to work.
Not even to tell stories.
But simply.
To rest.
Together.
The fireflies slowly gather around the tree.
Their golden lights drift among the branches.
Higher.
Higher still.
Until the entire tree.
Glows like a living constellation.
A tree.
Made of stars.
A tree.
Made of dreams.
You also settle comfortably.
Beneath the branches.
The grass is soft.
The air is warm.
The night is kind.
And overhead,
Thousands of leaves whisper quietly in the breeze.
The sound is almost like a lullaby.
Perhaps you notice how peaceful everything feels.
The forest isn't trying to become anything.
Trees are simply trees.
The stars are simply stars.
The moon.
Is simply the moon.
And for this little while.
You don't need to become anything either.
You can simply a gentle breeze passes through the clearing.
The moon tree responds with a soft rustling sound.
And something magical.
Begins to happen.
Tiny silver leaves.
Detach from the branches.
One by one.
Floating slowly downward.
Drifting like feathers.
Each leaf carries a dream.
Not a grand dream,
Not a difficult dream.
Simply.
Peaceful thought.
A gentle memory.
A feeling of comfort.
A feeling of home.
One silver leaf.
Drift slowly towards you.
It lands softly beside you.
And as you look at it.
.
.
You feel a pleasant warmth spreading through your body.
Your forehead relaxes.
Your jaw softens.
Your shoulders become heavy.
Your arms grow comfortable.
Your legs sink deeply into rest.
Around you.
Whisperwood.
Becomes quieter still.
Sir Fergus has begun to snore very softly.
A polite badger snort.
Barely louder.
Than our sleeping hedgehog.
Lily smiles without opening her eyes.
Mrs Pym has tucked her head beneath a wing.
Even on Corella.
Has curled herself into the soft grass.
Perfectly content.
Perfectly safe.
Above,
The stars continue their slow journey across the sky.
The firefly lanterns glow warmly among the branches.
The moon tree watches over everyone.
And everything feels new.
Exactly as it should.
If there are still thoughts wandering through your mind tonight.
Imagine placing them gently.
Into a little lantern.
No need to carry them.
No need to solve them.
Simply place them inside.
And watch.
As a friendly firefly.
Carries the lantern away.
Not forever.
Just until morning.
The firefly drifts upward.
Into the branches,
Into the moonlight.
Into the stars.
Now there is only stillness.
Only comfort.
Only the gentle rhythm.
Of your breathing.
The moon tree continues to whisper its ancient lullaby.
The forest continues to dream.
And whisperwood.
Holds you safely.
In its quiet embrace.
So rest now,
Dear friend.
Rest beneath the silver leaves.
Rest beneath the moonlit sky.
Rest among friends.
And as the lanterns glow softly overhead.
Allow yourself to drift.
And drift.
And drift into the sweetest sleep.
Good night,
Dear friend.
Goodnight,
Whisperwood.
Good night.
You you you you you you you you you you you you you and I'll see you next time.
Thank you very much.
