Every night, as the moon rises, and the sun sets in the horizon, a little man appears quietly nearby. He silently floats by every house, visiting every tender child who has sunk into sleep.
He walks, quieter than a ghost, into the child's room. In the dark, he takes the small pouch that hangs from his belt, and creeps to peer down at the child. He smiles, gently brushing a finger against their cheek, so softly they could never feel it. He searches through their memories, always choosing the very best ones.
He then holds them carefully, keeping the good thoughts in the young infant's mind, as he reaches down into his pouch to take a pinch of silvery dust, and carefully sprinkle it over their eyes. The memory becomes a dream, and their hopes join in happiness.
This is the way all wonderful dreams are created.
As the sky begins to lighten in the east, the stars blink out, and the moon warns of its setting, the little man tiptoes away. Ever silent, never seen.
As the rays of the sun begin to touch upon the rooftops of the houses, and pour over the tips of the mountain ranges, the little man waves goodbye, for his time is over tonight. When first drops of sun sparkle in his little eyes, he smiles, and melts into sand to be carried by the wind for all the day and to return again on the night winds, when the sun's time is over and the moon rises to bring the stars to life...
YOU ARE READING
Shards and Feathers
RandomThis is a collection of short stories. Other words for what may be contained in this collection: fragments, segments, excerpts, bits, pieces, shorts, extracts, and shreds. (Redundancy is fun.) This is the place where puzzles and snippets are kept an...
