At the very edge of the drowsy wood,
Where the pine trees whispered to each other in voices no louder than a yawn,
There lived a small bear named Bramble.
Ramble was not a very big bear.
He was in fact quite possibly the smallest bear in the whole woods.
His paws were round and soft.
His ears were round and soft.
Most of him,
Really,
Was round and soft,
And he smelled pleasantly of pine needles and sweet wood sap.
He lived alone in a little den beneath the roots of an ancient tree,
And he was happy there.
On the stovetop was a small brass kettle,
And above it,
On the bark-covered mantle,
Was his collection of interesting pebbles,
Arranged by color.
His bed was made of bracken and dry leaves that crackled softly when he climbed into it at night.
Had a favorite cup with a chip in the handle that he had never got around to replacing.
Because a chipped cup that fits your paw just right is worth keeping.
And his favorite spot was a round window that looked out through the tree roots into the woods.
In the evening,
The light came through it in long,
Warm diamond shapes that fell across the floor and stayed there until dark.
It was in all the ways that mattered.
A very good life.
Each night before bed,
Bramble stepped outside to say goodnight to the stars.
He liked to find each one in its proper place.
They twinkled softly at him,
Gentle and calm.
It always felt somehow as if they were glad he had come,
Though Bramble was never quite sure how he knew.
Tonight,
Though,
He found something lying in the grass at his feet.
It was a blanket.
But not an ordinary blanket.
This blanket was the softest,
Most delicate thing Bramble had ever seen.
It was white,
Or nearly white.
There was a shimmer of silver across the surface that gave it the look of fresh snow touched by moonlight.
When he lifted it,
The fabric was so light,
It barely felt like he was holding anything at all.
It flooded a little in the breeze,
As fine as a butterfly's wing.
As if it were made for the air more than the earth.
He held it up and looked at it in more detail The cloth was covered in tiny points of light,
So small that at first he thought it was simply the moonlight catching the threads.
But when he turned it away from the moon,
Into the shadow of the trees,
The lights remained.
Soft and steady,
Each one glowing gently up at him from the fabric.
Bramble brought the blanket a little closer,
Right to the tip of his nose.
The lights were still there,
Tiny but clear.
And then he soared In one corner of the blanket,
A cluster of seven lights grouped together in a shape he knew as well as his own paws.
He had said goodnight to them every single night from his doorstep.
They lived just to the left of the moon,
He was certain.
Looking up to find them,
He saw the sky above the drowsy wood as it always was,
Wide and dark and full of stars.
His eyes searched around the moon,
But the stars he was holding weren't there.
Where they should have been,
There was nothing.
Just a dark space in the sky,
Empty and still.
You look down at the blanket then up again at the gap in the stars.
And down again.
The shape of the gap.
And the shape of the blanket.
Were exactly the same And every star that was missing from the sky was there in his paws,
Glowing softly up at him from the fabric.
He stood very still for a long moment.
The blanket held carefully in both paws is round eyes wide.
The blanket was not decorated to look like the sky.
It was a piece of the sky.
It had come loose somehow and floated all the way down through the dark,
Quiet night and landed here at the edge of the drowsy wood at Bramble's feet.
He looked up at the gap for a long quiet moment,
Considering what to do next and he tucked the blanket gently over one arm went back inside to put his kettle off the heat closed the door of his den softly behind him,
And set off into the woods.
Drowsy wood at night was a different place from the drowsy wood by day.
In daylight,
It was cheerful and busy and full of small,
Bright sounds.
But at night it became much quieter and calmer.
The trees felt a little closer together in the dark path turned silver underfoot,
And every leaf held a small still pool of moonlight.
No sound could be heard except for Bramble's footsteps and the odd rustle of wings as birds here and there stared slightly in their sleep.
Bramble walked slowly,
His round paws pressing into the moss The blanket lay over his arm,
Lighter than silk.
Now and then,
The breeze moved through the trees and lifted the edges of it.
And Bramble held it a little closer to his chest He was in no hurry.
There was nowhere to be but here,
In the soft dark of the wood,
With the stars keeping watch above him.
He passed the rabbit's burrows,
All of them dark and peaceful Every rabbit tucked deep inside,
With its ears folded down and its small round sides rising.
I'm falling in sleep The pond came next,
Its lily pads motionless on the water,
Their flowers closed up for the night.
Beyond that,
The black-gray thicket,
Unrecognizable in the dark Its daytime tangles transformed into something that looked almost like a sleeping animal curled up between the trees.
Wenon passed the old hollow log where the hedgehog family had slept since autumn.
All of them curled together in one warm and bristly heap.
Everything in the drowsy wood was sleeping.
Everything was still.
And as Bramble walked,
He felt a kind of stillness settling into him too It came from the forest floor.
Gently stroking the soles of his paws to start.
Relaxing them so that each step felt more effortless than the last.
Then it spread slowly up through the rest of him.
Soothing and softening as it went.
Until Bramble felt a deep sense of ease and tranquility inside.
He continued on noticing that the air had begun to move through the trees in long,
Slow waves.
Closer then away.
Looser then away.
Like the breathing of a very large and very peaceful being.
Bramble found himself slowing his own breath to match it.
Inhaling as it swept towards him.
Exhale it as it ebbed away again.
In.
And out and out A little further on,
He came to a clearing where three silver birch trees stood.
In the moonlight,
Their pale bark glowed softly,
Filling the clearing around them with a cool silver light.
At the center of the clearing stood an enormous tree stump.
So old and so wide that Bramble could have lain across it with his arms stretched out and still not reached the edges.
Across its whole surface,
A garden had taken root.
Tiny ferns and flowers bordered pathways that wound between miniature vegetable gardens and orchards.
Little rock formations no bigger than Bramble's Claw littered the surface.
And on one side,
There was a waterfall so small,
He could only hear it when he held his breath.
Thread of water catching the moonlight as it fell.
Tending to it all.
Moving cheerfully along the paths were the tiniest creatures Bramble had ever seen.
They were no bigger than acorns with round bellies and soft faces.
Somewhere between a mouse and a person,
With tiny pointed ears,
Bright curious eyes,
And little round paws.
Each one was a different color.
Some pale as cream,
Some the deep red of autumn leaves,
And some a soft and dusty blue.
They were pottering about with tiny tools and tiny baskets watering,
Tidying,
And patting things into place with an air of great contentment.
Rambo crouched down and watched them with awe.
One of them noticed him immediately and waved,
As if a large bear crouching in the dark was perfectly normal and very welcome.
Another one caught his eye,
Rounder than the rest,
And a particularly cheerful shade of yellow.
It trotted over to a flower at the edge of the garden.
Picked it with both hands and held it up to Bramble with a wide and gap-toothed smile.
Ramble reached down and took it between two claws and tucked it behind his ear.
He nodded his head with a smile of thanks.
The little creature beam and turn back to its work.
Bramble waved goodbye to the tiny tree stump folk,
Then walked on.
And as he walked,
His thoughts grew quieter One by one they faded slowly and completely.
They simply seemed to drift away.
He watched them go.
As if they were clouds passing by.
Until his mind was as clear as the dark sky above him.
All that was left was the ground beneath his paws.
The sound of his own breath the sleeping wood around him.
Beyond the clearing,
A stream ran low and smooth over its stones.
In daylight,
It chattered and rushed.
But tonight it had settled into something gentler.
Softer even than a murmur more like a low quiet hum.
Bramble stepped across on the smooth,
Flat stones,
Feeling the cool spray of the water pleasantly tickle his paws.
Then the ground began to rise.
He came to the foot of Heron Hill the tallest point in the drowsy woods.
He had never climbed it at night before The path wound upward through short silver grass,
Through patches of wild thyme that had folded itself down for the night.
And through stands of rowan trees,
With their dark berries hanging still.
The blanket lifted a little at the edges as he climbed.
Tugging gently at his arm.
As if it knew the way and was glad to be going.
Halfway up,
He stopped to rest on a flat stone.
He turned and looked back at the woods spread out below him.
It was beautiful.
Drowsy wood lay beneath him like something in a dream.
All deep green and silver and soft darkness.
He could see the glow of the birch trees in their clearing.
He could see the crowns of the tallest pines swaying very gently.
And he could see,
If he looked carefully enough,
The small,
Warm square of his den window.
Far below,
Glowing softly between the roots of his tree.
He had left the lamp on again you'll waste it because the warm glow of it made him feel comforted before he had even reached the door.
He sat for a while and simply looked cool air settled around him.
The grass beneath him was thick and springy He sank into it a little.
And felt his whole body settle.
Above him,
The stars were stunning.
Brighter and closer than they ever looked from the wood below.
The dark patch weighted between them,
Outlined on every side by starlight.
Nearly there,
He told the blanket And he thought,
Just for a moment,
That it wound itself a little closer around his arm in a brief embrace of thanks.
Scramble rows and climb the rest of the way slowly One soft step at a time,
Following the path as it curved towards the summit.
At the very top,
There was a flat rock,
Wide and smooth and cool beneath his paws.
Bramble stepped onto it and stood for a moment The whole of the drowsy wood was below him.
The whole of the sky was above him.
He had never felt so perfectly held between two beautiful things and his heart felt very full.
Now was the time to give the stars back to the sky He stretched his brown,
Fluffy arms up as high as they would go.
Holding the blanket out towards the stars.
His paws were open,
The fabric resting lightly on his palms.
For a moment,
Nothing happened.
The stars above twinkled their soft light down at him.
The empty space beside the large moon weighted.
Even the breeze went still as if holding its breath Bramble held his tube.
Stillness and silence fill the moment then the breeze came back gently.
Like a long slow breath out it moved beneath the blanket and lifted it from Bramble's paws with the greatest care the blanket rose It turned slowly in the air and floated upward,
Growing fainter and fainter as it went,
Until it was barely there at all.
Just a shimmer among the stars.
Bramble watched it pass over the moon,
Drifting back towards the space it had fallen from.
To the dark and starless hollow in the sky and then it's settled.
It nestled into the space slowly nudging itself into the edges and tucking its corners in one by one.
A small wriggle,
This way and that way.
And then it sank into the dark and went perfectly still The stars that had only shimmered in his paws began to glow.
One by one they brightened until they shone as bright as any other in the sky.
Then,
The stars around them drew ever so slightly closer.
Their light glowing warmer at the edges.
It seemed to Bramble,
Watching from below,
That they were welcoming the fallen stars home.
Bramble stood on the rock at the top of Heron Hill and looked up for a long time.
Every star was exactly where it should be once again.
Standing there beneath all of it,
You felt perfectly,
Deeply.
Wonderfully calm.
He was content,
Just then,
To be nowhere else with nothing but the night and the stars above him.
Goodnight,
Said Bramble eventually.
It was time to make his way back home back to the warm light.
And the comfort of his cozy bed.
He couldn't help but yawn and stretch as he rose to his feet Down the hill he went,
One careful step at a time.
Near the bottom,
An owl passed silently overhead,
Its great wings open,
Making no sound at all.
Then he crossed the stream again,
The water still humming softly.
Past the birch trees and the tree stump garden.
Tiny creatures who lived there were no longer pottering about.
Perhaps they had settled down to sleep within the stump,
Bramble thought.
On and on he went.
Everything just as it had been when he had wandered through earlier.
Though somehow the stillness had deepened even more.
And the whole wood was heavy with sleep now.
Every tree.
And leave.
And creature settled under the comforting weight of it.
When Bramble arrived back at his den,
He turned off the lamps His body was tired.
His mind was clear.
And his heart was full.
He was ready for sleep.
The bird gave softly beneath him as he climbed in and he sank into it with a long contented sigh.
He pulled his patchwork blanket up to his chin.
Rested his head on his pillow.
And felt the cares of the day.
Pull quietly away Through the window,
He could see a small square of sky.
The stars were all there every single one Bramble looked at it for a moment,
But his eyes soon grew too heavy.
He closed them gently his breathing slow The soft sounds of the land outside grew quieter and quieter.
Bathing so gently.
That he could not have said when they stopped.
He breathed in and out.
His paws were heavy.
His ears were still.
The blanket was soft and warm around him and slowly finally.
Slowly.
Like the fading light of a sunset.
At the end of a perfect day.
Scramble the bear,
Drift it off to sleep
