The Moon's Blanket

One cold night the Moon looked down at the village of Chhota Gaon and saw that everybody was awake.

The baby in the blue house was crying. The puppy near the well was whining. Even the old banyan tree was creaking and could not get comfortable.

"They are cold," said the Moon. "They need a blanket."

So the Moon called the clouds. They came slowly from every corner of the sky: thin ones, fat ones, and one that looked a little like a sheep. The Moon pulled them together, edge to edge, and stitched them with threads of silver light.

It was the biggest blanket in the world. It was soft and grey, and it had no weight at all.

Gently, gently, the Moon lowered it over the village.

It covered the fields first, and the crickets went quiet. It covered the well, and the puppy turned around three times and lay down. It covered the banyan tree, and the tree stopped creaking and held its birds a little closer.

Last of all it covered the blue house. The baby yawned. The baby's mother yawned. The lamp in the window went out.

The Moon tucked in the corners of the blanket behind the far hills.

"There," said the Moon. "Now nobody is cold."

All night the Moon stayed awake, up above the blanket, so that nobody else had to. And when the morning came, the Sun folded the blanket carefully, piece by piece, and put it away for another night.

Somewhere, right now, the Moon is looking down to see who is still awake.

Is it you?