Mira's Pillow Garden

Mira could not sleep. She turned to the left. She turned to the right. Her bed felt too big and the night felt too long.

"Close your eyes," said her grandmother from the next bed, "and go to your pillow garden."

"What is a pillow garden?"

"It is the garden inside your pillow. Everyone has one. Put your ear down and listen."

Mira put her ear on the pillow. At first she heard nothing. Then, very faintly, she heard a rustle, like leaves.

She closed her eyes, and there it was. A small gate, painted green. She pushed it open.

Inside, the grass was soft and cool under her feet. There was a path made of flat white stones. Along the path grew flowers that glowed a little, like tiny lamps: one blue, one yellow, one pink.

There was a swing hanging from a mango tree. Mira sat on it. It moved by itself, slowly, forward and back, forward and back.

A white rabbit was asleep under a bush. A row of ducklings slept by a pond, each with its head tucked in. Even the butterflies were asleep, folded shut on the flowers like small closed books.

"Everyone here is sleeping," thought Mira. "I should be quiet."

At the end of the path stood a little bed. It had a quilt with stars sewn on it. It was exactly her size.

Mira climbed in. The quilt was light and warm. Above her, the mango leaves moved, and between them she could see one star.

In the next bed, Grandmother listened. Mira's breathing had turned slow and even.

"Goodnight," Grandmother whispered. "Close the gate behind you."