← Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
Koala Moon: Kids Bedtime Stories & Sleep Stories for Kids Podcast
Koko’s Coziest Bedtime Stories Ever 🐨 💤 | 2 Hour Compilation
02:32:35
Loading summary
Transcript5 lines
- [00:11]
A
Hello and welcome back to Koala Moon, a podcast of original children's bedtime stories and meditations designed to make bedtime a dream. I'm Abby and tonight's episode is extra special because Coco has asked me to create a collection of all the stories he thinks are the coziest ever. It's an extended two hour compilation, giving you plenty of time to snuggle down, get comfy and drift off during these chilly winter nights. These tales are filled with warmth and calm, from blanket forts in rainy days to sleepy burrows and gentle farmyards. Perfect for winding down and letting your body rest. So take a deep breath in and let it out with a sigh. Before we begin, a quick message for the grown ups. If you'd like to support our podcast, enjoy ad free listening, unlock four bonus stories per month and much, much more, you can join Coco Club. Subscribe in just two taps via the link in the show notes, but now here's a quick word from our sponsors.
- [01:26]
B
If you don't know me yet, my name's Kelly and I tell fun filled and adventure packed stories over on our other podcast, Koala Shine. You can think of Koala Shine as koalamoon's bubbly best friend, full of exciting stories that are just perfect for the daytime. And let me tell you something. Have I got an exciting surprise waiting for you. Throughout February on Koala Shine, I'll be telling one story a week from our epic four part series, Hector and Sunny in the Topsy Turvy. They discover something dark as afoot. Green trees are turning red before disappearing altogether. Sweet candies are beginning to taste sour. And Coco's little sister Kira, who's been acting a bit out of sorts, has suddenly vanished. Where has Kira gone? Well, it's up to Hector and Sunny to find out what strange magic is at work. Their search will take them into the dark underside of the Koala Kingdom, the upside down and back to front Topsy Turvy, where nothing is as it seems. Will they be able to save the Koala Kingdom from the threat of the Topsy Turvy? And will their friendship be able to stand the test? Well, there's only one way to find out. Head over to Koala Shine and hit the follow button now. That way you can make sure you never miss an episode. Come join us every Saturday in February for the wildest adventure we've ever had. Hector and Sunny in the Topsy Turvy. Only on Koala Shine.
- [02:48]
A
Ready? Ok, great. Let's begin with the Mole, the Vole and the Cosiest. Hole by Jane Thomas. Deep in the heart of sleepy forest, near the meadows of wildflowers that pour down hillsides towards the silver trickle of a stream, lives a tiny little creature called Viola Velvet. She has the softest fur you can ever imagine, her dusky grey that almost in the half light of the early morning or late afternoon becomes the grey blue color of lavender. Viola Velvet is a vole and she lives quite alone, exactly as she likes it. Oh, she's more than happy to spend time with friends and almost every other day she heads along to visit one of her sisters in their burrows. But every evening she heads back home and sinks back into the cushions of her armchair and smiles contentedly to herself. She has her favorite pictures on the walls, she has her favourite books on the shelves. The kitchen is filled with her favourite foods, her mattress is just as soft as she likes it to be, and nobody ever, ever leaves a damp towel on the floor of the bathroom. Viola Velvet's favourite saying is a place for everything and everything in its place. The candlesticks on the mantelpiece know exactly where they are expected to stand, and the rugs on the floor know precisely which furniture they must line up with, and the mugs and jugs, cans and pans in the kitchen all know in which cupboard they belong. Whenever she does her washing and goes outside to peg it onto the line in her back garden, the socks are always hung up in pairs, the arms of the tops wouldn't dream of being inside out, and her handkerchiefs know how to flutter in unison when the breezes blow. I wouldn't like you to think that Viola Velvet was a boring vole or any such thing. She's actually a terribly interesting vole who has a thousand thoughts whirling in her head at any one moment and she has found that everything is a little bit clearer if she organizes the world around her as much as she can. That way her eye, and therefore mind, doesn't get distracted by a crooked picture frame or a book that is somewhere it has no business being, or a pair of pyjamas hanging awkwardly over the end of the bed. When everything around you is organized, your mind can get back to doing what it does best. Imagining things. Viola Velvet is in fact a writer, and funnily enough, the only part of her burrow that is allowed to have a little disorder is her writing room. She uses a typewriter, one of those big old fashioned ones where you have to really push the keys down and where the thing where the paper is rolled in makes a satisfying ching when it hits the end of the line and goes back to start a new one. There are always vases filled to overflowing with flowers in this writing room taken from her garden that's allowed to grow wild. The Little vole is a big believer in letting plants and shrubs and bushes do their own thing, which means she has flowers and trees growing in her garden that appear nowhere else. In Sleepy Forest. Viola Velvet writes all sorts of books, from cosy mysteries featuring stolen cakes to flights of fancy where anything is possible, to historical stories that dive back into the past and futuristic stories that reach forwards into a world yet to be seen. Today is a very special day to be introducing you to Viola Velvet, because today is a rare day when she breaks from her routine. Today, one of her best friends is coming to visit and he will even stay with her for a few days. Because she so very rarely has anyone near her home, she makes enormous efforts to ensure they have a wonderful, cosy, relaxing time with her. She makes extra trips to the market to be sure of having their favourite foods waiting for them in the kitchen. And she takes the spare blankets from her dresser and places them over the other armchair in the living room so her guest too can curl up cosy and warm in the evening. One of her quirks, or perhaps it's one of her charms, is that she always sends a list of questions to anyone who will visit. She asks their shoe size so she can be sure to have a pair of fluffy slippers ready by the door when they arrive. She asks if they'd like bigger pillows or smaller pillows and whether they want their head to sink into a pillow or float on top. She asks their favourite colour and their favourite scent. And when she has all this information, she carefully files it away in a special drawer, the completed questionnaires all tied up with a length of golden thread. Today, Viola reaches for this bundle and then goes through the papers, smiling as she sees the names of all her friends at the top, searching through until she finds the right one. There it is. Water. The mole is coming to see her. And there's the questionnaire he first filled out, oh, maybe 20 years ago now. They have been friends for a terribly long time. After all, she almost knows it by heart. That extraordinary brain of hers remembers this sort of thing, but she likes to check and be sure. Whoever is visiting will always feel as if they've visited the loveliest, warmest, snuggest, safest and coziest hole in the world. Last week, Viola finished her most recent book, A wonderful story, all about disappearing around the world on a moonbeam, and she always takes a few weeks off after completing an entire book. The first week is spent enjoying doing nothing much at all and stretching her back out. After months spent hunched over her typewriter, she revisits the garden and says hello to all the new flowers that have arrived in her absence, and she sniffs the air to remind herself whether summer or autumn or winter or spring is on its way. When you spend your life burrowed away inside the cosiest of holes, it's easy to forget where in the year you are. And after that first week of reacquainting herself with the world, Viola will take up her pen and write a letter to a particular friend asking if they would like to visit. Nobody has ever said no. Everybody loves visiting Viola, and they share stories of what's been happening in Sleepy Forest, and she shares the stories that have been dancing around in her mind, and they tut together at the things that should be tutted at and laugh together at the things that make them smile. Walter's reply to Viola's letter had been a single word. Yes, he'd written in giant letters on a piece of paper so large he'd folded it four times over to fit into the envelope, a huge exclamation mark after the S to show his excitement at coming to visit. And today is the day Viola will cast a final look around the house. She watches as the candlesticks shuffle millimeters to the left, back into their perfect spots, and she opens the cutlery drawer just in time to watch a spoon jump into its rightful place, back away from where it had accidentally been placed with the forks. There are no windows, of course, because Viola lives underground, but she has hung curtains in various places and has them drawn permanently closed so it seems as if there really are windows just behind them. As she watches, the curtains hang as straight as they can, flowery patterns lining up perfectly with each other. Content that the house is in order, Viola heads up the passageway to her round front door, a perfect circle of red made from the button of a very large winter coat a person had once worn. The door closes behind her, and Viola strolls along the pathway that winds itself through the wildness of her garden, then heads up through the meadow to wait at the bus stop for Walter to arrive. Viola has remarkably little interest in the time of day, and there isn't a single clock or watch or timepiece in her home, but as soon as she goes outside, she knows just what time it is. She sniffs the air to measure for dampness and warmth and which flowers are growing and which are fast asleep. And with that she knows the time of year and then she looks at the sun and where it is hanging in the sky, and with that she knows the exact time of day. So Viola knows she's arrived at the bus stop with seven whole minutes to spare and she spends the time rising and falling on her toes and watching the swallows sweep in great arcs through the sky. Then there the goosebus comes trotting over the hill, back gleaming golden in the late afternoon sun. The white downy feathers of the goosebus are almost turned pink with the sun starting to sink between the hills. Viola hears the little bell tinkle. That will be Walter letting the goose know this is his stop. And then the goose is pulling into the side of the road right next to where she stands and Walter is picking up his smart brown suitcase and sliding down the goose's wing to land with a bump and a jump in front of her. The vole and the mole laugh and smile and dive towards each other for a hug, one of those I've missed you, it's so good to see you hugs that we only get when we haven't seen someone for a while. Walter takes his suitcase in one hand and Viola's hand in the other and together they walk down through the meadow of wildflowers towards her bright red button of her front door and towards the setting sun. Walter says that his mum, Beatrice, sends her love and Viola beams outside and glows inside. He tells her of his brothers and sisters, his grandmother and his uncle of the project he's been working on, making an underground treehouse in the twisted roots of a giant oak that dive deep beneath the surface of the earth, and Viola thinks that is the most splendid thing she's ever heard. He tells her how they have burrowed a whole new tunnel that emerges into the world just above a little stream, and how they've polished and sanded and smoothed the curved piece of wood into a slide that goes right from the tunnel entrance to the edge of the stream so they can launch themselves into the cool waters. With a shriek and a splash they push their way down the garden path, saying excuse me and awfully sorry to the various plants and flowers that are reaching across the way, pushing them gently aside and stepping over tendrils, and then they arrive at the red button door. Walter puts his hand on Viola's arm, signalling her to stop for a moment. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, a smile spreading across his face. Then he opens his eyes and solemnly points to himself and then Viola and then the door, the mole, the vole and the cosiest hole, he says as they go through the door. Walter grins to see his bright red fluffy slippers all ready and waiting for him. This is as much about him being cosy and warm as him not dragging mud through Viola's perfect little home and he knows that, but it's a lovely, kind welcoming gesture that he doesn't get anywhere else in the world. He follows Viola down the narrow passageway, suitcase held firmly in his hand, and they pad along in the soft golden glow, heading further and further underground. She guides him to the guest bedroom and he looks at the same familiar blankets and pillows and breathes in the scent of jasmine and notices how she has tucked his favourite mints into a little package on the pillow alongside perfectly neatly crisply ironed blue and white striped pyjamas. A red dressing gown with golden tassels hangs on the back of the bedroom door and the two have the same conversation they always do. Do you mind? Says Walter. I'll see you in the living room, says Viola and she heads off with that warm satisfied smile, knowing that everything is exactly as Walter likes it, and he climbs into the crisp pyjamas and wraps himself in the warm dressing gown and reaches into his suitcase for the presents he has brought. No self respecting mole ever visits anyone, least of all a vole such as Viola, without taking presents. He's brought a painting from his mum, just a small one in a little silver frame, and she places it on the table beside her chair. Not many would guess that the voles favourite animal is an elephant, but Viola holds a fascination for these enormous gentle giants and Beatrice has painted the perfect picture of an elephant by a watering hole, trunk arched into a question mark as it sprays water onto its gleaming back. And the second present is a jar of raspberry jam made just the day before by his grandmother, her little label stuck on the side with the date and the exact location of the raspberry bush she has used beneath the westerly weeping willows, it reads. Viola feels a little shiver of delight run down her spine as she remembers how very sweet those particular raspberries are. As Viola disappears into the kitchen to put the finishing touches to their dinner, Walter takes up a log and puts it on the fire, poking it to watch the flames sparkle and dance. He settles back into his chair and reaches up for the blanket he knows will be waiting for him. Opening it out and placing it over his knees, he gives the first of many sighs of contentment, looking at the candlesticks lined up just as they should be, scanning the bookshelves and noting that not a single book is out of place. Hiola comes in bearing a tray, one of those with a cushion underneath so it can sit on Walter's knees, and she pours him a glass of deep red cranberry juice that gleams like a pool of rubies in the light of the fire, and then she retreats once more, coming back with her own tray that she settles on her lap, expertly arranging the rug across her knees and popping her feet onto a footstool that is, as you would expect, at the absolutely perfect height. She tells him all about her latest novel, the one where it is possible to travel around the world on moonbeams, and after he has begged perhaps a hundred times, she reads him a few pages and then a few chapters, encouraged by the way he leans forwards and stares into the fire and becomes quite lost in her words. She's always wary of sharing her stories, worried that perhaps this one won't be as magical as the last, but Walter assures her it is wonderful and whimsical and everything a story should be, and she tucks the pages away to read more chapters in the following days. He tells her of a new card game he has learned, and she goes to a bureau and pulls out a pack, shuffling them with practice skill as she walks back to her chair. He deals the cards and explains the game, Viola leaning forwards and frowning a little as she concentrates. Their little hands move faster and faster as she learns which cards are good and which are bad, how they go together and how they don't, and they play again and again, lost in the world of diamonds and hearts, clubs and spades. This is exactly what Viola needs, she thinks to herself. She loves her time alone, loves the orderliness of her days, loves sitting behind her typewriter and watching her fingers fly about and listening to the Ching as another line is finished and a new one begins. But the friends who visit during her breaks from writing are what give her the ideas for the next stories. They let her mind dance with new thoughts and feelings. Walter, as with so many of the creatures that visit Viola's cosy home, begs for a special story all to himself. She says she will tell him one, but only if he sits back in his chair and pulls the blanket a little higher, hand, closes his eyes and feels the warmth of the fire on his face. Walter does as he is told, and so Viola begins. Once upon a time, she says, there was a Little vole called Viola Velvet. She lived quite alone in the cosiest hole in all the world, where there was a place for everything and everything was in its place. And she was a happy vol, reading her books and writing her stories and making sure socks always stayed in their pairs and the toothbrushes always stood perfectly to attention. But then one day, her friend Walter the Mole came to visit. He arrived on the back of a goose, sliding down its wing with a little brown suitcase in his hand. He stayed with Viola Velvet for three whole days. On the first day they went for a walk in the woods, picnic basket in hand, and they sat in the shade of an ancient elm. A red and white rug spread beneath them, and they counted butterflies and dragonflies and shared tea with a passing bumblebee. On the second day they went to the lake, where they rowed to the very centre in a little wooden boat, and they lay back and looked at the clouds above, feeling the boat rocking gently from side to side on the waves. They stayed there until the sky became the deepest, darkest blue, the sun quite gone and the first stars shining in the darkness, a full moon lighting their way home. On the third day, they climbed to the very top of a mountain. They left early in the morning with everything they needed tucked away in backpacks, and they followed a path that wound its way round and round the mountainside, using little stone bridges to cross streams and following the signs that said this way onwards. And once they reached the very top of the mountain, they were standing where the birds swirled and danced in the sky and they could see the eagles soar and the nightingales floating, and how the geese flew home for the night, a giant V floating gently towards the setting sun. Viola and Walter walked slowly back down the mountainside, heading towards home, where a big red button stood bold against the greenery and led down into the home buried far beneath the surface of the earth. And the two friends sat before the fire with rugs across their knees, and they shared stories of the months when they had not met, and dreams of the future and promises and hopes and thoughts and ideas that they knew they would only share with their dearest friend. At this point, Viola heard a snuffling sound and looked across at Walter, seeing he was fast asleep. A contented smile spread across his face, his head nodding a little as he snored and dreamed. She thought of waking him and guiding him back to his room, but instead she buried herself a little deeper beneath her blanket and pulled her feet up so she was curled into the tiniest ball nestling her head against a cushion and deciding that this is where she would sleep tonight. Let us leave them there. Two tiny, furry, velvet soft creatures curled up in their chairs before the glowing embers of the fire. For it isn't often that Viola has anyone in her home, and it doesn't do to overstay our welcome. Let us leave them there. Two best friends who will spend three glorious days and three wonderful nights together before Viola is once more by herself in a writing room with vases of flowers and piles of shifting paper with her typewriter and her mind dancing from one story to another. Let us leave them there. The mole, the vole and the cosiest hole. This is Snoozy Suzie's best ever blanket fort by Luke Prendergast. Snoozy Suzie had been Suzie's nickname since almost the day she was born. It was her mum and dad who'd first come up with it because they noticed in the very first weeks of her life that there was one activity that Suzy enjoyed more than any other. That's right, napping. It didn't really matter what time of the day, evening or night, it was when baby Suzie got laid down in her crib or on the sofa, or even just down on her mama's lap for a moment her dreamy smile would spread over her face. The tangle of golden curls around her head would seem to glow like a halo. Her delicate baby eyelids would close. And just like that, she would be off napping in the land of nod. Our little baby could snooze anywhere, Suzie's mum would remark, shaking her head in wonder. She could fall asleep on a noisy train, her dad agreed. Or propped up at a busy dinner table, her mum suggested. Or hanging upside down from a tree, her dad ventured. Well, yes, her mum said to that, but we wouldn't want to try that one out. She's not even a year old, after all. As she got older, through being a toddler and into her early years of being a fully grown child, Snoozy Suzie kept her favourite pastime and her nickname. She napped on the school bus. She napped in the playground. She napped beneath the table. When she went over to see friends, there was absolutely nothing quite as satisfying and rejuvenating as a swift snooze. Her 20 minute power nap, her cosy little kip. By no means was napping an exclusive activity for Snoozy Suzie. No, she was such an advocate for napping that she regularly invited her three closest friends to join her, Polly, Poppy, and Pete. Ask your parents if they can bring you over to my house at the weekend, she'd tell them at school. We can play, then we can nap, and then we can play again. That's how she got into making bedtime forts so that there'd be somewhere special for her and her friends to take their naps. At first, these forts started out very rudimentary indeed. Just a bunch of pillows or cushions laid out in the perfect arrangement on the floor with a soft woollen blanket laid over them. But then, over time, the forts began to get more elaborate. Snoozy Susie would gather the kitchen chairs together and drape bedsheets over them so that you could crawl under and lie on your back beneath the white cotton canopy. Or she would get her dad to set up the pop up tent in the garden and fill it with duvets and the battery powered night light that shone little yellow stars onto the black canvas ceiling. Once she even filled the bath with blankets and let the water trickle out of the tap into the sink so that if you closed your eyes it sounded like you were napping near a waterfall. We love your bedtime forts, Snoozy Suzie. Her friends Polly, Poppy, and Pete would remark. They're the best bedtime thoughts ever. Susie was always glad to hear such compliments, but she knew in her heart of hearts that what her friend said wasn't true. Sure, she absolutely believed that they loved her bedtime forts. Who wouldn't? But she didn't think they were the best bedtime forts ever. The problem was this. Everyone had particular needs and tastes when it came to the perfect environment for having a nap. Polly, for example. She needed utter silence to sleep properly, but Poppy preferred to have some noise in the background. Pete liked to be nestled in softness and warmth, but Polly liked something firmer to sleep on. Poppy liked to nap in total darkness because even a little bit of light against her eyelids kept her awake. But poor little Pete was scared of the dark. He needed at least a night light on so that he felt safe and comfy enough to drop off. So you see, that was Snoozy Suzie's problem. The best bedtime fort would be able to satisfy all of her friends different nap time needs and hers simply didn't. What a dilemma. Then one morning at school, Snoozy Suzie trotted up to her friends in the playground, her face bright and red with excitement. I had a dream, she said to them, the words coming out a hurried garble. I had a dream I had a dream. It took a little while before Polly, Poppy, and Pete managed to calm Snoozy Suzie down enough to be able to understand what she was saying. It turned out that the night before, Susie had had a vivid dream in which she met a very friendly koala bear. A koala bear? Asked Polly with a frown. Yes, said Suzie. A koala bear. A koala bear who could talk and play the ukulele. A ukulele? Poppy repeated, confusion in her eyes. Yes, a ukulele, suzie said. And the koala bear showed me how to make the best bedtime fort ever. Best bedtime fort? Pete asked, a look of puzzlement on his face. From their reactions, it was clear to Snoozy Suzie that her friends couldn't make heads or tails of what she was saying. Don't worry about it, she said. Just make sure you all come over to my house after school on Friday and be prepared for the best naps of your entire life so far. And with that, Suzie turned on her heel and marched away across the playground, leaving her friends to watch her disappear, bewildered. Here's what happened in Snoozy Suzie's dream. She was walking through a forest. Rays of twilight, lilac light falling through the branches overhead, the smell of pine needles drifting up from the forest floor. The only sound was the crunch of dried leaves and twigs beneath her feet, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and somewhere in the distance, the tinkling sound of water. Then there was another sound, the sound of music, plucked strings tinkling like raindrops on a tin roof. She followed the music until she entered a clearing in the forest. And there in the middle of the clearing, sitting on a tree stump, was a koala playing a ukulele. When Suzy arrived in the clearing, the koala stopped his playing. He looked straight at her and asked, are you a ghost? Oh, no, said Susie. I'm just a girl. Except, she added, looking around, I think I'm asleep and dreaming. The koala nodded, as though he understood perfectly. That makes sense, he said. Dreaming people arrive at this clearing from different worlds, from time to time, usually when they're looking for an answer to some question on their mind. Has something been weighing on your mind lately? The koala bear was so friendly, and this dream forest so soothing. But snoozy. Suzie felt no qualm with telling the koala exactly what had been on her mind. How to make the best bedtime, thought. The koala's eyes brightened when she said this. Well, you're in Luck, he told her, because I know just how to make the best bedtime fort. You do? Suzie said. Oh, yes, said the koala. And what's more, I can tell you how. But it takes a bit of engineering, a dose of magic, and a whole lot of hope. Do you think you can manage that? Engineering Magic?
- [42:16]
B
Hope.
- [42:18]
A
Suzie reckoned she could master all of those things. After all, here she was in a dream, chatting away with a talking koala. If that wasn't magical, then what on earth was? Snoozy Suzie nodded. The koala got up off his tree stump and laid his ukulele gently down on the ground. Then he walked over to Susie and whispered in her ear. He whispered for a long time. What he said was complicated, but Snoozy. Suzie listened closely, and by the time the koala had stopped talking, she believed she remembered every word he'd said. You got that? The koala asked her. Suzy nodded. I'm pretty sure I do. Thank you. She gave him a smile before adding, my name's Suzie, by the way. But you can call me Snoozy Suzie, because that's what all my friends call me. And I think we're friends now, right? A big bright smile lit up the koala's face. We're definitely friends, Snoozy Suzy. And you can call me Coco, he said, because that's my name. Sometimes, Snoozy Suzie remembered her dreams perfectly. Total recall. Other times she could barely remember they happened at all. Luckily for her, the dream in which she'd met Koko the koala was one of the former ones. She could still hear every word he'd whispered in her ear. There was a lot to do before her friends arrived on Friday evening. First she had to gather all the strange items that Koko had listed to her. She had to collect in a little cup the dew that collected on the grass at exactly seven in the morning. She had to pick ripe blackberries off the vines that grew by the road. She had to drag all of the bed linen out of her family's airing cupboard, as well as the cushions from the sofas, chairs from the kitchen, and all of the soft toys from her bed. She had to find some fallen orange leaves, whisper a secret incantation over them three times, then crumble them into a fine dust. She had to unplug her dad's radio from his study and carry it upstairs. And she had to ask her parents to help her empty out her room. Empty it out, her mum said, her eyes wide with surprise. Completely. Yes, Snoozy Susie informed her. She needed it completely empty. Please, Mum, she begged. It's to build my best bedtime fort. Her parents had enough experience of Snoozy Suzie's nap time antics, not just to make too much of a fuss and helped her move all the stuff from her room into the corridor or their bedroom for the time being. But then it has to go straight back on the weekend. Ok, Snoozy Suz, her mum told her once her room was empty, Snoozy Suzie could get to work. She shut the door and when her parents heard a strange commotion, bangs and whizzes and tinkling magical sounds coming from her room, they just exchanged knowing looks and shook their heads and went downstairs to feed the dog. At last Polly, Poppy and Pete arrived at Snoozy Suzie's house, but they barely had time to knock on the bright yellow front door before it swung open and there stood Susie herself, her blonde curls ruffled into disarray, a little sheen of sweat on her forehead, but a bigger grin on her face than they'd ever seen before. Polly, Poppy and Pete waved goodbye to their parents as they were ushered into the house and hurried upstairs by Susie. What's the rush, Snoozy Suze? Polly asked, but Susie didn't answer. She just waved them up the stairs, led them across the landing and stood expectantly outside her bedroom door, tapping her foot while they gathered around. Are you ready for the most spectacular nap you've ever had? She said, putting on her best magician's voice. Are you ready to enter a place the lights of which you've never entered before? Pete raised his eyebrows. Er, Suze, this is your room. We've all been in there before. Ah, Snoozy Suzy sighed. You might have, but not like this. Friends, I'd like to welcome you to the best bedtime fort. And with that, Suzy opened the door and they all stepped inside. Snoozy Suzie fully believed she could hear each of her friends breaths catch in their throat. 1, 2, 3. And the sound she couldn't deny, gave her such a deep sense of satisfaction. Because, truth be told, the inside of Susie's room no longer looked like the inside of her room. In fact, it didn't look like the inside of any room at all. Instead, it was as though they'd stepped into a magical forest wonderland. Pale pine tree trunks grew up out of Susie's wooden floorboards, disappearing up into a canopy of soft white sheets. Above the sheets, warm golden lights bobbed and gleamed as though giant fireflies dozed beyond their veils, casting gentle shadows on the floor. Beanbags lay on the floor and paper lanterns hung suspended in the air, their flames flickering softly. This snoozy, Suzie said, is the chill out zone. It's the common area where we can all snooze and hang out together. And these. Now she pointed to four sets of draped curtains that hung at the edges of the room. Go through to our individual napping chambers. There's one for each of us, especially suited to each of our napping needs. Come see for yourselves. Dumbstruck, Polly, Poppy and Pete followed Susie to the first set of drapes, lilac in colour, which she drew back to reveal a room full of lilac cushions with padded walls. In the middle rose a wooden platform with a thin mattress on top of it. This is Polly's chamber, Snoozy, Suzie announced, decked out in your favourite colour and with a super firm wooden platform because I know how you like to nap on something hard. Which might sound odd, but each to their own. Polly wandered into the chamber, looking around with wide eyed wonder. Plus, Susie continued, these walls aren't just cute, they're super soundproof too, so you can nap completely undisturbed. Let's try it. So Susie let the drapes fall down, leaving Polly in her chamber. Now, Suzy told the others, we have to make some noise. So she, Poppy and Pete all jumped up and down and made some loud whooping sounds before she drew open the drapes again. Could you hear that, Polly? Susie asked. Then she let out a little chuckle because Polly was already lying down on her firm mattress. I couldn't hear a single thing. Polly sighed sleepily. How perfect. Next, Susie led them to a pair of pale blue drapes. And this is Poppy's chamber, she told them, drawing the curtains back. Beyond was pitch darkness. There's nothing there. Pete exclaimed, but Poppy was already stepping into the room. Oh yes there is. Poppy whispered. Oh Suzie, it feels like walking on clouds. I've never felt anything so soft beneath my feet. Its almost like I'm stepping on nothing at all. And yet I am. And what's that? What's that sound? Poppy's voice was issuing from the darkness in her chamber. And now there came other sounds too. The sound of waves lapping against the shore and of evening birds singing their dusky songs and of music, gentle guitar plucking that sounded suspiciously like lullabies played on a ukulele. I made sure there was absolutely no light in your chamber, suzy told Poppy, because I know how even a little glint of light wakes you up? But also, I've made sure there's a nice background wall of sound. All the gentlest, most snoozy sounds the world has to offer. Poppy poked her head out of the darkness so it looked as though it was just hanging there, right in midair. She was smiling. Oh, Suzie, it is perfect. I could just lie down and nap straight away. But let's see Pete's chamber first, shall we? Oh, we certainly should, said Snoozy Suze, leading them over to the set of yellow drapes that hung on the opposite side of the chill out zone. She pulled them back and they all peered into what appeared to be a tiny parcel of jungle fit snugly into a napping chamber. The air was warm and humid, with jungle trees and vines climbing from the floor and wrapping themselves over the walls. In the middle of the room a tree trunk grew and its canopy spread out to create a soft bed of leaves. There was even a little ladder etched into the bark for you to climb up, and a warm golden light suffused the whole chamber as though lit by some distant sun. Wow, Susie, Pete sighed. I couldn't have even dreamed this place up. Well, Pete, susie told him, I know how you're a teensy bit afraid of the dark, so don't worry. The sun never really sets in this chamber. And from all the time you spend talking about the Amazon rainforest at school, I thought I'd try to bring a bit of the Amazon here for you. Just until you get the chance to visit it when you're more grown up. Pete climbed up the tree trunk ladder and lay down on the leafy canopy. It's so warm up here and. And comfy, too, he said. It's like I've got my own napping tree house. It's amazing. Suzy and Polly and Poppy standing next to Snoozy Suzie agreed. None of them could quite believe their eyes. Let's go and hang out in the chill out zone, suzy suggested, before we each go to our chambers to have our first naps. So her friends followed her back out into the chill out zone, and they each flopped themselves down on a beanbag. Polly took the purple one, Poppy took the blue one, Pete took the yellow one, and Susie herself took a creamy white one. Their bodies sunk into them, and the beans inside the bag shook like maracas, shifting to accommodate the weight of their bodies. And like that, the four friends chatted about their lives as they often did. They spoke about their teachers, which of them had given a bit too much homework that weekend and which had let them off lightly. They spoke about what they hoped would be for tea that evening. Susie's dad was downstairs in the kitchen preparing to cook, and they talked about how it might be fun on Sunday to go to the park and play on the swing. As they talked, each of them began to feel their eyes beginning to close. They stretched their limbs lazily and yawned and blinked. I think it's almost time for our naps, polly suggested. I think you're right, Polly, poppy agreed. I can't wait for my first nap in the best bedtime fort. But before we go, said Pete through a stifled yawn, I have a question for Snoozy Suze. Do you, Pete? Susie asked. What's that? Well, pete replied, this best bedtime ford, it's truly unbelievable. But how did you do it? It's not like we're in the real world at all, but a magical place of nap time dreams with fireflies and pine trees and oceans lapping far beneath our feet. How did you do it? Suzie gave her friends a big smile, and some very special words came back to her. Some words she'd once heard a koala tell her in a dream. Oh, she said. It wasn't so hard in the end. All it required was a bit of engineering, a dose of magic, and a whole lot of hope. Polly, Poppy, and Pete thought about her answer, and it seemed pretty reasonable to them, so they nodded. They were feeling pretty sleepy anyway, so one by one they drifted off to their chambers. Polly closed the curtains on her soundproof dreamland with its lilac cushions and its firm napping bed. Poppy slipped through the drapes into her dark wonderland, where the sounds of the sighing sea and of tinkling rain and lush plucked strings were ready to sing her into sleep. Pete crept into his magical jungle, climbed up to his treehouse, and nestled down into the leaves beneath the kindly light of a setting sun. And Snoozy Suzy. Well, Suzie got up off her white beanbag, crossed the chill out zone, and drew back a final set of shimmery white drapes. And then, taking one more look around her, she slipped into her napping chamber. Hers, she knew, was the best. It was a very bare chamber with only your standard cushions and blankets arranged on the floor. It looked like any normal, unmagical bedroom. Nothing fantastical here. And yet it was the most magical place of all, because as Snoozy Suzy yawned and tucked herself under a blanket and rested her head on a pillow and prepared to drift off into a perfect nap. She knew that she was heading off, too, into a magical dreamland, a forest with rustling leaves and a sleepy river where her new friend would be waiting to greet her. Her new friend would, who lived in her imagination, a friend she could visit anytime she wanted in her plain white chamber, in her best bedtime fort, a koala with a kindly smile and his very own ukulele. This is Potato and Beans. Babysit the Sleepy piglets by Susannah McLoughlin. One delightful afternoon at Potato and Beans Diner when the sun was warm and round, the sky was vast and blue, and the red dirt was glowing outside the windows, Mrs. Pig was getting ready to go out. She was tying her silk headscarf at her chin and sliding on her most glamorous shades with one eye on the door, watching out for her ride. Mr. Pig was coming to get her, to whisk her away for a trip to the city where they were celebrating their anniversary with dinner and dancing. She was wearing a pink tweed dress with gold buttons and had little golden kitten heels on her trotters. Potato and Beans had been twirling her around and telling her how fabulous she looked, and Potato had even taken off her favourite love heart necklace and attached it around Mrs. Pig's neck. That was the finishing touch. Now she looked absolutely perfect. Outside there was the honk of a car horn and Mr. Pig's baby blue Cadillac slid into the parking lot. He was wearing his best leather jacket and a T shirt emblazoned with his favorite piggy wrapper, Snoop Hog. He got out and opened the passenger side doors and a puddle of piglets spilled out of the car. There were eight of them, eight little snouts, eight pot bellies, and eight curly little tails. Potato and Beans were babysitting the couple's piglets and they were so looking forward to it, especially Potato. She thought the baby pigs were the cutest things to exist in the whole world. She wanted to be an excellent babysitter and had already prepared all kinds of activities. Her and beans had planned eight little dinners and eight yummy desserts and even laid out eight little cots for their nap time. Mr. Pig had a sheepish look on his face as he approached the cats. He kissed his wife on the cheek and told her how fabulous she looked before turning to Potato and Beans. There are a little bit of a handful at the moment, Mr. Pig said, rubbing the back of his neck. They're really into hide and seek and chase and making messes and finger painting on the carpet. The cats raised an eyebrow each, but don't worry, Mr. Pig rushed. He'll be fun. They'll be good for their babysitters. In fact, they'll be good as gold. He turned to the pile of piglets beaming up from behind him. Isn't that right? Yes, Papa. The piglets chorused sweetly. Good. There's Gold. Potato felt herself relax as she gazed at the adorable pink little piggies. They looked as innocent as can be. Don't worry, we'll handle it, she said. We're well prepared. Beans looked less certain. But In a jiffy, Mrs. Pig was jumping into the car and Mr. Pig sliding over the bonnet to find himself back in the driver's seat. Goodbye, my little loves, Mrs. Pig called over her shoulder as the car purred to life and shot off down the road across the open plains. Goodbye, Mrs. Pig. Potato yelled, before realising that Mrs. Pig was probably addressing the piglets. She shrugged and spun around to look at her precious little guests. She put her paws at her chin, squeezed her fists and squealed in excitement. Beans put her paw around Potato. Now don't get carried away, Potato, she said. I know they're super cute, but it sounds like they're mischievous too. Let's keep our eye on them, ok? Potato was too busy squeezing a piglet she'd just swept up into her arms. Pardon, Beansy? She asked, but Beans just grinned and shook her head. Never mind, she said. In we go, little piggies. She spread her paws wide as she herded the squiggly little pigs into the diner. The eight piglets lined up next to the counter and peered up at them in interest. They all looked almost identical. I need a reminder who's who, beans whispered to Potato. She had no idea how anyone told the pigs apart. It's so easy, Beans. Potato giggled. That's Paula with the extra curly tail. Then Paolo with the floppy ears. Polly has the lightest eyes. Pammy the darkest. That's Porky and Pepsi, the twins. Then Punky with the earring. Oh, and Pee Wee, the smallest. Beans looked at Potato blankly. How on earth was that? Easy, she decided. She'd just call them all sweetie or darling or something like that instead. Ok, Piggy pals, bean said. We've got something special in store for you. I want you all to sit in that booth there and wait with your eyes closed. Ok? The pigs hurried across the diner and piled into the booth, a whirlwind of squiggly tails and tapping trotters. Then they all beamed back at the cats, good as gold. One by one, they closed their eyes and rested their trotters over their brows. Perfect, potato said. Good as gold. A bubble of giggles emanated from the booth. The cats spun on their heels and headed into the kitchen where Ozzy, the octopus dishwasher, was using a silver marker to put the last touches on their project. He raised his tentacles and called, chada. There stood the perfect miniature cardboard stage with tea towel curtains. Ozzy pulled the drapes apart and showed off their hard work There it was, a perfect miniature replica of the diner. There was the black and white checked floor there, the counter with the shiny silver till. There were the booths and the stools and the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. There were even mini burgers on the tables and milkshakes on the bar. The box itself was padded in blue velvet and decorated with silver stars. In each tentacle. Ozzy now held a little doll. There was a pig made of pink felt wearing an apron, two cats in roller skates and an octopus covered in little bubbles. There was a little piglet with a serving tray in hand. That was Turnip, their waiter. Then there was a little post dog with an outfit made of pipe cleaners, a detective dog with a mini wire magnifying glass, and a cowboy made from a clothes peg. The puppet show was ready to go. They laid the puppets on the stage. Then Potato grabbed one side and Beans took the other and they heaved it through to the diner. Rolling carefully on their skates, the cats lowered the puppet show onto the table opposite the piggy's booth and lit the spotlights. Then they spun around to look behind them and Potato called, now open your eyes. Only when they looked towards the booth, waving their jazz hands and beaming goofy grins, there was no one in it. Not one pig. Not Paula or Paolo, Not Pammy or Pepsi. Not Punky or Porky or Pee Wee or Polly. Not a wiggly tail or a trotter or even a whisker. Beans groaned. Oh, I know where they've gone. It's that hide and seek Mr. Pig warned us about, she said. They've started a game. Potato giggled. She knew Beans had been working hard on the puppet show, but she was sure they would round the pigs up quickly and get back to it. This could be fun, Beans, she said. So what if the piglets are a little playful? We're the best babysitters ever. Let's play along. Beans nodded with a smile. Ok, if you're sure, Potato. Let's do this, she said. She took a deep breath and put her thinking hat on. If I were a little piggy with a little pink snout where would I hide to not be found out? The two cats looked around the diner, hands on hips. Turnip was busy making milkshakes at the counter, and Ozzy was still hidden away in the kitchen where he was on cooking duty for the day. There were customers scattered here and there. In the corner booth, a poodle sat bouncing her little pup on her knee, feeding it little spoons of ice cream while she gossiped with Zara the postdog. Next to the table, a pram was parked with its lacy curtains pulled closed. Hmm, Beans thought. Mighty suspicious. Beans tiptoed over to the table and pounced, throwing back the covers on the pram. A little ball of fluff peered back up at her, blinking in confusion. Oh, sorry, beans said to the baby poodle. She'd just woken up. I thought you'd had twins, she said to the mum, who raised an eyebrow in questioning. Before she could explain, Beans heard a chuckle from the storage section at the bottom of the pram and dropped into a squat, hauling a snorting little piggy from its hiding place. Polly the piglet wiggled her fingers, cackling away as Beans carried her back to the booth and penned her in with some opened up menus. One down, Potato said. See, we're winning. Now if I were a piggy with a smile sweet and wide, where, oh where oh where would I hide? Beans pointed subtly to a bag of coffee beans that seemed to be wiggling. Potato tiptoed over and pounced. She threw open the sack and pulled out the chuckling piggy, who left a clatter of coffee beans in his wake as he was carried swiftly back to the booth. With a ha. Potato popped Paolo next to Polly. She poked his tummy. Good hiding, Paolo, she said. But not good enough. She winked and joined Beans, who was skulking around like a detective. A dance of light caught Beans's eye and she smiled. It was the sun reflecting on the sequins of Tallulah Sparkle's long floor brushing skirt, the possum, always dressed to impress, even for a simple trip to the diner. If I was a piggy, chunky and pink, maybe I'd hide under there, don't you think? Beans mused. Tallulah snorted with laughter, and the milkshake she was drinking nearly squirted out of her nose. She lifted her skirt with an apologetic grin to reveal the little piggy hiding there behind her pink cowboy boots. Bean swept Pammy into a cuddle and pretended to scold her in a funny voice as she deposited her in the booth with her brother and sister. They looked as innocent as could be now, playing pat a cake and singing in little high pitched voices. Paolo's eye darted over Beans's shoulder and she whipped around to see what he was looking at, but she was too slow. Paolo grinned devilishly and wiggled his eyebrows. A clue. Beans led Potato to the back of the diner where shelves covered the wall laden with bags of sugar and cups and saucers and artwork and teapots and all sorts of other things. A strange echoey oink sounded above their heads. Potato looked at Beans. If I was a piggy and I was easy to spot, maybe I'd jump into the nearest teapot. She grinned. Beans fetched the step ladder, hopped up and reached for the largest teapot, a dusty old thing they barely used as they never really needed to brew enough tea for a hundred. It was surprisingly heavy. She lifted the lid and can you guess what popped out? Punky Potato pulled him out of the pot, heaving his belly through the little opening and took him to the booth, turned Pig pen, tickling him all the way. That was Pammy Pepsi, Paolo and Punky. Four down, four to go. Beans put her paws on her hips and thought some more. Then she spoke. If I were a pig on a hide and seek mission, I'd hurry off and hide in the kitchen, she said, realisation in her voice. She and Potato skated off into the kitchen where Ozzy was flipping pancakes with a mischievous grin. I don't suppose you've seen any piglets, have you Ozzy? Beans pried. Nope, Ozzy said, hiding a smile. Not a tail nor a trotter. Beans was sure he knew something, but she just shot him a narrow eyed look and pushed on. Her attention was caught by a little plopping noise. A bubble floated to the surface of the washing up bowl, popping on the top, then another one. Potato and Beans tiptoed to the sink and plunged their paws into the bubbly warm water. It was hard work as the piggy was exceptionally wiggly and slippy. But soon Potato had Paula in hand, covered in suds and giggling her head off. Ozzy burst out in laughter and gave the little piglet a high five. Potato hurried off with the piglet and Beans continued the search. If I was a piggy and Ozzy helped me hide, he'd find a big pan and I'd hide inside. Ozzy puckered his lip into a pout and Potato knew she was right. She clapped her paws in excitement and tiptoed over to the store cupboard which had teetering stacks of pots and pans, gizmos and crockery and baking pans. Right in the centre was Mrs. Pig's Magic Soup. Potato lifted the lid just an inch and a shiny little pair of eyes peered out at her. The little pig burst into laughter as Potato heaved her out of the pan and carried her under her arm back into the diner. That was Porky found Beans mopped her brow with her napkin. Two to go, she laughed. Polly and Pee Wee Turnip, the pot bellied pig server, skated over and leaned into Beans side. If I were a pig, giggly and jolly, my first pick would be the dessert packed trolley, he whispered. Potato and Beans nodded. That was a good call. Off they went to the dessert trolley which was in the walk in fridge around the corner behind the counter. The cats tiptoed in shivering at the cool air and pulled back boxes of veggies to find the dessert trolley in its right place with a chocolate fudge cake as normal on the top and on the bottom half a carrot cake and a little happy piggy smeared with icing. Potato and Beans laughed at the sight of the happy piglet with her rosy cheeks and handfuls of cake. Then they bundled her back to the booth and dropped her with her siblings who were making wonky origami out of serviettes. Potato took one of the serviettes and wiped all the icing and crumbs off Polly's face, trotters and belly. One left. Beans took a deep breath. If I were a piggy by the name of Pee Wee, I'd hide where people go to Wee Wee, she said, skating towards the bathrooms. With a flick of her tail. She was greeted by the bellowing of the hand dryer. Beneath its hot jets of air, little Pee Wee was stretched out, enjoying the warmth on his belly. He didn't even notice when the cats appeared until he was slung over Beans shoulder and marched back to the booth. Beans did a quick count. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8. Little piggies. Perfect. Have you had enough playing, you mischievous little piglets? Potato asked. Yes, Ms. Potato, they all chorused sweetly. Are you ready for the puppet show now? Beans asked. Yes, Ms. Beans, they cooed. Turnip brought plates of food over to the table and the piggies gobbled it down whilst the cats sat up. They'd clearly worked up an appetite. Beans and Potato took their places behind the puppet show stage and pressed play on the speakers. A jaunty tune flooded the room and Potato and Beans sang the jingle they'd come up with for their show. Potato played Potato and Beans played Beans and the rest of the characters they split between themselves. As the music played. They made Mrs. Pig skate across the stage and serve cake to Dallas the cowboy. They made the Aussie puppet sing a song about Soap and had him tap dancing on the tables. They made the little potato and Beans go on adventure after adventure. And soon they were so carried away with the story they didn't realise that the eight little pigs were all sinking deeper into their seats, cuddling together a little closer and beginning to softly snore. It took Turnip skating over and tapping them on the shoulder for them to realise. Potato was soon cooing and clucking at how very sweet they looked and Beans couldn't help but agree. And so Potato and Beans, Ozzy and Turnip each took two little piggies and softly scooped them into their arms. Beans was carrying the twins, Porky and Pepsi. And when Pepsi began sucking her little trotter and snuggling into Beans shoulder, she nearly melted. It seemed the Piggies charms were paying off. They took the piggies up into Potato and Beans apartment above the diner where the eight cots were waiting. Potato wrapped Paula in a soft comforter and placed her down in the cot. Then Paolo went next to her, cuddled up with one of Beans's teddy bears. Then Porky was lowered into her cosy bed. Next Pepsi went into a bundle of blankets. Then Ozzy juggled Pee Wee and Polly and placed them each in a bed. Finally Turnip tucked Pammy and Punky into their own snuggly spots. Potato elbowed Beans and giggled. Pigs in blankets. She chuckled, pointing at the sleeping pigs. Beans just elbowed her fondly and rolled her eyes. Turnip and Ozzy went back to work and Potato and Beans took their babysitter spots on the squishy leather couch. Potato reached for a fluffy throw and poured it over them. The two cats had been working pretty hard looking after these piggies and now they were feeling pretty tired. Potato clicked on the TV and an old film flicked on a cartoon about a princess in a castle who meets a stinky but kind ogre and his talking donkey friend. They half watched the film and half watched the sleepy piglets. As they stirred and dreamt, the snoring pig's little bellies slowly rose and fell, rose and fell and Potato began to yawn. She dropped her head onto Beans shoulder and soon, paw in paw, the two best friends fell fast asleep. That's how Mr. And Mrs. Pig found them. Later that night all ate Piggies and the two cats filling the cosy fairy light lit room with noisy Contented snores. I can't believe they're all so calm, Mrs. Pig whispered to Mr. Pig. They really are good as gold. Mr. Pig raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe that one bit. But it's true. They looked as calm as can be. And in fact it made him feel rather sleepy. This is the Sleepy Tractus by Elisha Ainslie. It was the end of another peaceful day on Puddlefoot Farm, and Farmer Clyde was putting everything away before nightfall. He'd already checked on the animals and ensured they had everything they needed and were safely in their respective paddocks, pension and barns for the night ahead. He'd locked all of the gates and packed away all of the animals toys. Now there was just one thing left to do. Farmer Clyde stepped into the largest barn of them all to tuck in his most prized possessions for bed. His tractors. Without his tractors helping him throughout the day, Farmer Clyde wouldn't be able to complete his important farm duties. Each tractor had its own set of special responsibilities and all were equally dear in his heart. The tractors were all lined up around the sides of the barn, parked in their respective spots, leaving a huge open space in the centre. As the darkness of night began to cover the farm and dim the light in the barn, a lone opening in the roof allowed a direct view of the sky. As the moon started to turn its face to the world, streams of silver moonlight began to flow through the opening and down into the barn, illuminating the center like a stage. Little did Farmer Clyde know this stage would soon be used to host a rather impressive show. As he always did, Farmer Clyde patted each giant machine on the front bonnet and wished them good night. Good night, Rollaway, he whispered to his gleaming yellow tractor. Goodnight, June, he said to the green tractor next. Goodnight, Big Blue, he called up to the largest of them all, the blue tractor. That enabled him to pull the heaviest machinery across the farm. Good night, Dusty, he repeated to the combine harvester before adding, I hope you've had a nice day off. You'll be needed again tomorrow, bright and early. Then finally, Farmer Clyde stroked the plough in the corner, whispering, good night, Reiki. Good job today. With his precious tractors and machines all safely tucked into bed, Farmer Clyde closed the barn door and returned to his house for a quiet evening in front of the fire. The moment the barn door was closed shut behind Farmer Clyde, something incredible happened. One by one, the tractors opened their eyes and came to life. Little did Farmer Clyde know his tractors had minds of their own, and when he wasn't looking, they could move and Talk. Each of the tractors rolled forward into the centre of the barn, illuminated by the moon's rays and wished each other a good evening. Rolloway the yellow tractor, June the green tractor, Dusty, the combine harvester, Reiki the Plough, and not forgetting Big Blue all smiled at one another and yawned. What a day it had been. At the end of every day, the machinery liked to get together to discuss the day and share tales of the pleasant things they had done on the farm. Rollaway was a yellow tractor with a black bonnet gathering him the name around the farm of the Bumblebee. He had two large wheels at the back and two smaller wheels at the front, with a powerful bucket shaped loader attached to his front. Rollaway's main job on the farm was to collect and carry things that Farmer Clyde couldn't, from hay to dirt to sand. June was also a tractor, but her duties were different to Rollaway. She had four equally large wheels and often had other machinery attached to her back. She was especially strong and so she was used around the farm to pull heavy loads in trailers and drag machinery like Reiki the Plough around the field so they could do their jobs. But neither Rollaway nor June were as large as Big Blue. He had humongous wheels, taller than a person, and was bulkier and heavier than both other tractors combined. Big Blue had been Farmer Clyde's first tractor and he still held a sweet spot for the old machine. Big Blue was getting a little slower on the hills nowadays, but he was still powerful. Farmer Clyde didn't have too many jobs big enough for Big Blue, but every now and then he still liked to take his beloved Old Faithful tractor out for a treat. You wouldn't believe the sunrise I saw this morning, Big Blue boasted in his low, drawling voice. It seemed that tonight Big Blue would begin regaling the group with tales of the day. And he started with a lovely one. Farmer Clyde had picked up Big Blue from the barn that morning at the crack of dawn. Not even the farm cockerel Jilly had awoken yet. The farm was perfectly silent. Farmer Clyde had climbed up into the driver's seat and driven Big Blue out into the yard, through the open metal gates and into the field beyond. The sun was only just beginning to creep up beyond the rolling hills in the distance, and the sky was a picturesque blend of blue, yellow and pink. We're going to watch the sunrise, you and I, Farmer Clyde had informed the aging tractor as he chugged along the bumpy road. For many years. Farmer Clyde and Big Blue had started their Days together, watching the sunrise on the horizon. It was the farmer's favourite time of day. They were some of the only spare moments when the farmland was still and he had nothing he needed to do except relax and enjoy the show. Farmer Clyde parked Big Blue in the centre of the field, and together they patiently waited and watched the sun rear its head over the hill, gradually casting light across the land. The cockerel sang in the background right on cue, and Big Blue smiled as Farmer Clyde commented, now that's wonky. Good sunrise. Big Blue had to agree. The round sun blazed with a tangerine glow and its outline was a haze of lilac purple. Big Blue's heart felt as warm as the sun in the sky as he watched it develop and grow until its whole circular shape could be seen over the tops of the hilly peaks. They sat together silently watching the sun until the sheep began bleating in the distance and the farmyard behind them started to spring to life. Their momentary peace together was fleeting but precious. The other machines listened intently to Big Blue's reminiscence of the morning and agreed that it sounded perfectly blissful. Big Blue's day may have started off calm and reposeful, but Dusty the combine harvester's entire day had consisted of one big nap. What did you do all day, Dusty? Reiki the plough questioned upon realising that Dusty had remained in the barn all day. Dusty replied, it was quite marvellous, actually. I did my stretches and practised in preparation for tomorrow. If Farmer Clyde is taking me out in the morning, as he said, then I will have a lot to do and need my full strength for the day's work. Combine harvesters like Dusty had a very important job. It was up to them to harvest the crops and grains. Without a combine harvester to sort through the crops, the farming would take much longer to do. Months longer, in fact. Combine harvesters can do three tasks at once reaping, threshing and winnowing. Reaping is collecting the grains. Threshing loosens the grains from their casing, and winnowing separates the grain from the other plant material that isn't edible, separating the wheat from the chaff. Plus they can drive speedily through the fields. Dusty covered a lot of ground in one day when he was out harvesting. Thinking about the last time Dusty was out harvesting the field, Rollaway giggled at a memory. Do you remember how the horses watched you all day last time you were out? He recalled. I wonder if they'll watch you so intently again tomorrow. Dusty smiled sheepishly and replied, I think the horses are still a little bitter that we took their jobs, June chipped in. But it's been over a hundred years since tractors took over from horses. We are stronger than they are. It makes sense that we would do most of the heavy lifting on the farm. I know, big Blue added. And the horses only duty is to provide horse riding lessons for the local children and participate in races. That's way more fun. June rolled her eyes. Those horses have too much pride, she said. The conversation moved on, and next it was June's turn to describe what she had gotten up to on the farm today. Turning to Reiki the Plough, quietly sitting on the edge of their circle, June explained, we went out together today, didn't we, Reiki? Farmer Clyde needed to sow some seeds for the new crops, so he drove me out into the fields with Reiki connected to my back. I pulled and Reiki ploughed the earth. Then Farmer Clyde scattered the seeds into the deep crevices left behind us. We must have scattered thousands of seeds. We are quite the team, Reiki the Plough professed. Reiki tended to remain quiet around the other tractors. With the other machines standing so tall above her, she sometimes felt a little inferior in comparison to them. She wasn't strong like them, and she couldn't move of her own accord. She had to be dragged. But if it weren't for Reiki and her ploughing abilities, then nothing would grow properly on the farm. Her long, raked fingers dug furrows in the ground deep enough for seeds to be planted in. She also regularly turned over the soil to bring all the best nutrients to the surface. With her assistance, Farmer Clyde was able to plant crops such as wheat and barley, maize and oats, as well as vegetables like potatoes and onions. Once upon a time, ploughs like Reiki would have been dragged across the fields by horses and cattle. But nowadays the tractors took that duty. Reiki used to be pulled by Big Blue, but most of the time now she went out with June, who was younger and faster. Instead, Big Blue got to partake in more relaxing duties, such as pulling trailers and taking sunrise drives with Farmer Clyde. All of a sudden, an unexpected sound broke up the tractor's conversation. Somebody was approaching the barn. The tractors quickly took back up their resting positions in their parking spots in case Farmer Clyde had returned. They listened as soft padding footsteps approached the barn door. They waited as the tall wooden door creaked open slightly and a figure slinked into the barn. As the figure stepped into the ray of moonlight illuminating the interior of the Barn. The tractors all chuckled as they relaxed. Bonnie the collie was the farm's night warden, an expert sheepdog. Every evening she would patrol the farmyard to make sure that everyone was okay and that everything was in its place while Farmer Clyde slept. The shaggy black and white dog often liked to pay a visit to the machines too. Good evening everyone. Bonny the Collie greeted them in her gentle, honey soft voice. Good evening, Bonnie. The tractors chimed, rolling back out of their parking spots into the light. How is your night patrol going, Bonnie? Reiki the Plough asked politely. Bonnie smiled and sat on her bottom obediently as she replied, it's going very smoothly, thank you. All of the animals are exactly where they are meant to be and I can barely hear a peep from any of the barns. Even the chickens. They must be particular particularly tired tonight. Bonnie asked how their days had been. She often spotted the tractors out and about around the farm. Everybody worked equally hard to ensure that the farm's operations ran smoothly. Big Blue answered, actually, we have all been talking about the fun things we've done today. I saw a beautiful sunrise and June and Reiki sowed seeds for the next batch of crops. Meanwhile, Dusty had a delightful day off, although he will be back to work again tomorrow. Have you done anything enjoyable today, Bonnie? I'm sure you have plenty of great adventures on the farm with all the animals. Bonny grinned and replied that she had indeed had a fun day on the farm. In fact, while she had been rounding up the sheep into the neighbouring field, she had encountered quite a predicament. It had started as a normal day for Bonnie. She had woken up to a yummy breakfast before heading out with Farmer Clyde for her morning rounds. Everything was running smoothly and Bonnie had thought it would be an easy day. However, when it came time to round up the sheep and move them into the other field, things took an unexpected turn. As she counted up the flock, she noticed that one sheep was missing. Bonny ensured that the other sheep were safely beyond the wall in the next field before closing the gate behind her. Then she set out on a journey to track down the missing member of the flock. She had run over the hills for miles and miles, calling out for the missing sheep. She ran so far that she ended up in one of the cow fields. Bonnie didn't spend much time with the cows on a regular basis, at least not as much as she did with the sheep. But the cows were friendly nonetheless. She carefully approached them, knowing that some calves had recently been born into their field so they would feel extra Protected of their youngest members. She approached a cow she knew well named Peggy, and asked her if she had happened to see a lone sheep potter by recently, Peggy the cow had giggled and pointed bonny in the direction of their sleeping calves huddled up together under a nearby tree, snoozing away in the shade beneath the midday sun. When Bonnie crept close to the sleeping calves, she made an adorable discovery. Right in the middle of the huddled up calves was a lone ewe. That's a female sheep. Curled up with them all, keeping the sleeping babes cosy with her warm fuzzy wool. Bonnie had been reluctant to disturb the babysitter sheep when she looked so comfortable. But she did need to get her back to the rest of her flock. The ewe couldn't stay here forever. Bonnie beckoned the sheep to follow her out of the middle of the sleeping calves and back to the rest of her flock far away in the neighbouring field. With the ewe's departure, the calves instinctively snuggled up closer together and sighed with contentment as they settled back into their sweet dreams. The flock of sheep were delighted to be reunited with their missing member and the runaway ewe entertained them all with her tale of sleeping calves who needed a little extra comfort from some sheep's wool. The tractors listened to Bonnie's charming story and smiled affectionately as she relayed the tale. It was certainly a wonderfully sweet thing to have experienced in her day. Bonnie's story reminded Rollaway, the yellow tractor, that he too had witnessed something pretty adorable today. He had almost forgotten about it. Speaking of sweet little animals, he began, I also saw something positively darling today. Today, Rollaway had the important duty of transporting bales of hay around the farmyard. The weather could sometimes grow cool, especially at night, and it was important to keep all the animals toasty and warm when the temperatures dropped. So Rollaway carried the heavy loads of hay through the farmyard and distributed them between the separate barns. Most of the barns were empty in the daytime. However, today one barn was quite the opposite. As Rolloway placed a hay bale down in the pig barn, he heard a commotion coming from one of the pens. He drove over to inspect what was going on and couldn't believe his eyes. Inside the pig pen, a mother pig had welcomed a brand new litter of tiny piglets into the world. The endearing baby pigs all raced around the pig pen while their mother watched them with love and admiration. They wibbled and wobbled on their tiny legs as they found their trotters and they called out in their squeaky voices with excitement. Rolloway couldn't help but stand and watch them for a while, captivated by their cuteness. Bonnie the collie gazed at Rollaway the tractor with her big brown eyes and whispered, wow, that sounds amazing. I haven't seen the piglets yet. I'll have to try to see them tomorrow. I'm sure they're all tucked up in their beds right now, enjoying cuddles with their mummy. It seemed that a lot of baby animals had been born on the farm recently. There were the three baby calves in the cow herd. The piglets and Big Blue claimed he had heard word that a new batch of CH chicks had been born to the chickens. Oh, I hope there are chicks. June gushed. They are my favourites, dusty countered. Chicks are very cute, but to me nothing makes my heart happier than seeing the newborn lambs hopping and skipping around the fields in the spring. Nothing quite compares to the magic of the lambing season. The tractors all dreamily reflected on their experiences of witnessing sweet new life develop on the farm. From the lively animals to the growing crops and happy machinery, Farmer Clyde's farm was a very special place. After some time, Bonnie the collie left the barn to head to her own bed for the evening. Her cosy dog bed waited for her in front of Farmer Clyde's roaring fireplace, and her tired little legs longed for the sweet reprieve the comfy cushion granted her. Saying goodnight to the sheepdog, the tractors yawned one by one. Sleepiness had quietly snuck up on them as they had reflected on their day. June yawned, I think I might be ready for bed now, too. The sky looks almost midnight black and I want to have my strength for tomorrow's farmyard activities. The tractors all gazed up at the opening in the barn roof and admired the bright, gleaming moon within the dark night sky. Right on cue, a barn owl floated in through the opening, spreading its wings wide as it gracefully landed on one of the barn's tall wooden beams. It nestled its wings into its sides and settled in to rest. Dusty, the combine harvester, chuckled and whispered, I think if even the night owls are settling into sleep, we probably should too. Dusty Rollaway and June, Big Blue and Reiki the Plough all wished each other good night and rolled backwards into their respective parking spots. They snatched one last glance at the moon flowing into their barn overhead and close their eyes peacefully. Their breathing slowed and their engines cooled. The sleepy tractors drifted off to sleep, listening to the soft, whistling wind drifting through the barn and the gentle coos of the resting owl in the beams above. This is Brook's cosy Rainy Day by Jane Thomas. This evening, right now, right this moment, as you lie curled up in your bed all cosy and snug, you're going on an outing and you're going with Brooke and Forrest. You remember Forrest, who always walks with one hand on the back of Brooke's wheelchair so he doesn't get lost. And Brooke, basketball player extraordinaire Forrest's father, is taking the three of you on a special outing for Forrest's birthday, which was actually three weeks ago. But Forrest's family is as scatterbrained and forgetful as Forrest, so they've only just remembered that he should probably do something to celebrate. And of course you and Brook are going too. That goes without saying. It's raining, so you pull on your big waterproof coat, the bright yellow one with a huge hood and deep pockets, and you fiddle around getting the zip lined up before drawing it all the way up to the top, safely wrapped in waterproof yellow. You head outside. The stone steps are a little slippery in the rain, so you walk carefully, lifting your feet slowly and placing them gently but firmly on the ground. Then you reach the sidewalk and you put your hands deep into your pockets, your head down, and you run as fast as you can up Towards Brook's house, number 44, the one with the red door that's now shining with rain. Brooke has been waiting for you, watching out of the glass panels in the door, and before you can get your hand out of your pocket to ring the the bow, she's already opened it. She's wearing an equally enormous bright yellow waterproof coat, and over her knees she has a waterproof blanket for good measure, one that covers her legs and feet. She is, to all intents and purposes, encased in a waterproof cocoon. Brooke rolls out of the house and with one hand you close the door door behind her, and with the other you grab the back of her chair. Then you turn and two hands holding on firmly, you dash forwards. It's a quick trip down one garden path, along a few meters of sidewalk and then up another path, heading for the shiny with rain blue door of number 42. Forest has been waiting for you both, and he opens the door, ushering you inside. There's a great shaking of coats and an exchange of awkward mumbled Happy birthday I guess sort of comments because you knew it was his birthday three weeks ago and you said it to him. Then Forrest's father, Mr. Oak, appears through the door that leads into the garage. He's a huge fellow, as tall as a tree, with Arms that look like branches that could reach the edges of the sky. His big bushy beard looks as though it might have birds nesting in it. He looks at Brook and smiles and asks, may I? And she nods, yes, yes, he can. And he bends down from his great height and scoops her up as if she weighs no more than a feather, carrying her carefully to the car in the garage and settling her into the seat. Next he returns for her wheelchair and with a simple flick of the wrist, he collapses it and folds it neatly, popping it into the trunk of the car. Hugh and Forrest are ushered into the garage and find your spaces in the car. You're in the back, sitting behind Mr. Oak, which means you have to look after the side window if you want to see anything, because his shoulders and head and beard seem to take up the entire view to the front. And so it is. You sit in the back and look out of the window to the side, watching the garage walls slide away and become the outside world grey and damp, and rain starts splashing onto the window and everything is a bit of a blur. With two damp coats in the car, the windows start steaming up and you take your hand every now and then and rub clear a little patch on the window so you can keep looking out, watching the hedges go by and other cars and bits of buildings that you only just recognise because you can't see them properly, not through the small patch you have to keep clearing. You're headed to a village in the hills, and more particularly you are heading to a little cottage to a lady called Mrs. Penelope Porcelain, which is an extraordinarily appropriate name for someone who is a potter, a potter being someone who, you guessed it, makes pots. There are a surprising number of people who are potters in the area, but there is a particular reason Forrest and his father have chosen to visit Mrs. Penelope Porcelain for his birthday treat. And you realise what the reason is almost as soon as you arrive, because there is this beautiful cottage, covered from ground to roof in honeysuckle, a little blue door the colour of the sky on a sunny day, and leading up to the door is a ramp. The ramp is exactly what Brook's wheelchair needs, and it turns out this is exactly why you've come to this particular potter. Mr. Oak dashes outside and retrieves the wheelchair, giving it a quick flick of his wrist to open it out. And once more he leans into the car and asks brooke, may I? And she nods, yes, yes, he can. And he reaches in and scoops her out and places her gently in the chair, being sure to cover her legs once more with the waterproof blanket. He dashes over to the little blue door, pushing Brook into the shelter of a porch and leaning over to knock the little fist shaped knocker that hangs in the centre of the door. You and Forrest climb out and rush to join them, squeezing into the little covered space that protects you all from the rain, somehow finding room even though Mr. Oak is in there and his shoulders almost reach the sides and his head almost reaches the ceiling. A tiny lady answers the door, not just tiny because she's sitting in a wheelchair, but tiny because she is, well, tiny. Mrs. Penelope Porcelain looks as delicate as her name, and you shake her tiny hand as gently as you can because it looks as though it might break at any moment. She laughs at everything, even when there is nothing to laugh at, this light soft little laugh that seems to twinkle off the walls and make the cottage sparkle. You follow the sound of her laughter all the way through to her workshop where she shows you the pegs where you can hang your big yellow waterproof coat and hands you a towel so you can dry your hands and face, and then she shows you where you can leave your shoes and she hands over a soft cosy pair of slippers, a pair for each of you, and you ease your feet into them. There's a stove at the end of the room with a fire burning, a Mrs. Penelope porcelain. Penny, she says, you must call me. Penny opens the door and throws in another lock, a wave of heat wafting towards you. Mr. Oak looks suddenly awkward, not sure if he should stay or go, and Penny says to him he has a choice and he can sit by the fire in the big chair with the soft cushions or he can have a go on the potter's wheel too, and he looks between the two, caught between having a doze by the fireside or trying his hand at pottery, and eventually he mumbles something about, well, if it isn't too much trouble, and lowers himself gently onto the stool by the wheel. Forrest sits next to his father by another wheel and you are next to Forrest and then Brook is next to you, only Brook's wheel is a little different because yours And Forrest's and Mr. Oak's all have foot pedals and hers does not. Brooke's wheel is the same as Penny's, with levers that can be operated by arms and elbows, and this is another thing, yet another thing that has been changed and tweaked so even people like Brooke and Mrs. Penelope Porcelain can take part, and you think for the thousandth time that it is rather wonderful when the world adapts to them rather than them always having to adapt to the world. Mugs and jugs, announced Penny. Today it's all mugs and jugs. But first we need to feel the wheel. Feel the wheel. She places a big blob of grey clay on the round surface in front of you, a big misshapen blob of clay, and she tells you dip your hands into the water bowl beside you, and then she tells you to press the pedal gently, gently, and the wheel starts to move. The grey clay moves round and around as the wheel turns. Mr. Oak makes the first mistake, leaning down on his pedal as gently as he can, but pressing it far harder than is needed, and his clay spins for a few glorious moments before flying off into the room and landing, splat, right in front of the fire. Penny's laughter trickles around the room as she scoops it up and returns it to the rightful place on the wheel again. She points out places around the room where clay has landed before, in corners on the ceiling, on the back wall, and giggles as she says that once a ball even went flying straight through the window and landed splash in the watering can outside. Mr. Oak tries operating the pedal with just his toe. Perhaps that will be safer. Penny tells you all to place your hands around the clay, feeling the way it moves between your fingers. She shows you to keep splashing water to keep it smooth, and then she tells you to try pressing it a little, and you feel how the clay starts coming together. And before long, it isn't just a grey blob any longer, but a tube a little wider at the base and a little wobbly here and there, but it is coming together as something smooth that looks as though it belongs, as though it could actually become something. You look across and watch Brook focusing hard, her tongue poking out a little, a frown on her face as she leans forwards, pushing the lever with her elbow to start and stop the wheel. And on the other side is Forrest, who keeps placing a fingernail against the cylinder of clay he's created. So it has lines going around and around, a perfect series of lines cut into the clay. And then he grins and wets his hands again and holds them flat against the clay, and the lines are gone, and once more it is smooth on the far end, Mr. Oak's huge hands all but cover the blob of clay completely, and he keeps pressing too hard so it gets narrower and narrower, and then there is this sausage of clay spinning on a tiny disc, and it collapses and he has to mash it all back together and start again. Penny sits at the front by her wheel and shows you how to push your thumbs down into the centre of the cylinder you've created, and how you can push and pull and push and pull, and you will create something that has a centre. And slowly, slowly, you realise how it is possible to make something that looks as though it could somehow, sometime be a mug or a jug. At least it could if you added a handle to it. The room is warm with a fire and with concentrating so hard on the clay. And you stand up and go over to the sink and wash your hands, watching the grey water run down the plug hole. And when finally it is clear, you dry your hands and then pull off your jumper, placing it on the chair that stands by the fire. And then you go back to your wheel. The clay sits there patiently, waiting for you to return, not moving until you press the pedal and ask it to spin. It takes a while. It takes longer than you might know. But it's hard to tell that time is moving because the rain continues outside and the clouds are there. So the day was always gloomy and you don't know that the afternoon is rushing by. So, yes, it takes a while. But finally, you all have an empty pot in front of you. Some are tall and thin and others are short and squat. But you each have something that looks like a damp grey pot. And now, Penny says you must decide. Now is the time to choose if you'll make a mug or a jug. And you choose to make a jug because it will go well in your grandmother's house. She has so many lined up on the mantelpiece above the fire. Penny shows you how to take the edge of the pot you've created and pinch it between your thumb and finger to make a spout, something that turns the pot into a jug. And Brook decides to do the same. Together, you focus on making the perfect smooth spout that looks the same from both sides. And there comes a time when you both give up and have to go back to the start and push the clay back together to make a single grey blob. And then press your thumbs into the centre as it slowly spins so you can hollow it out and make a pot. And then you try once more to make the spout so that it can be used for pouring. Then comes the time when you are all given strips of clay and Penny hands you a rolling pin. A rolling pin almost exactly the same as the one you use in the kitchen when you're helping make cookies. And you make the strip even and flat, and then take a section and forge a handle from it. And water acts as glue so you can attach the handle onto the body of the jug or mug, if you're Forrest or Mr. Oak. And there they are, two jugs and two mugs, grey and shiny with water, waiting to go into the oven. It's a kiln, says Penny, pointing to the great round thing in the corner of the room. And she explains that the mugs and jugs must sit a while and then be baked at a high temperature. And then they will sit again and be baked, and then you will come back and paint them, paint them any colour you like, with any decorations you like, and they will be baked again. It is a long process, you think, just to make a mug. And when Penny hands around steaming mugs of hot chocolate, you look at the mug with a newfound respect and think how much time it has taken to create that mug just so you can sit here and drink that hot chocolate perched on a stool in a cottage covered in honeysuckle. Penny gives you some other pieces to practice painting on, and you take a brush and dip it into green, and you do your best to paint a picture of a boat on the side of the pot she's given you. And normally you aren't too bad at painting boats, but this is hard because the sides are round and it isn't a flat piece of paper at all. You keep trying and get thinner and thinner brushes to keep it as tidy as you can. And finally you have something that looks a little like a green boat with a red sail. And there are seagulls flying overhead, and something that might possibly be a whale on the other side, rising out of the ocean, but might just be a rock if you look at it from a different angle. Looking up, you see the walls are lined with Penny's own mugs and jugs, each one painted with a beautiful, intricate image with flowers woven together, or two squirrels rolling in the snow, or parrots in flight above rainforests. And you wonder how many years, how many years must it take to be able to make pots that perfect? You look over at Forrest's practice piece and he has painted two swans looking at each other, and their necks are curved in such a way that they form a heart between them. And the swans are perfect, smooth and neat and clear. This is something Forrest has longed to do for ages, but he waited until they had found Mrs. Penelope Porcelain because he wanted Brook to be able to come along too. Brook has painted her practice piece bright orange with black lines running down it so it looks for all the world like a miniature basketball. And you smile as you think, of course, of course, that is what Brooke would paint on anything, and Mr. Oak has created a tree on his mug, and perhaps this is where Forrest learned his skills, because the tree is as perfect as Forrest's swans, and the tree has individual leaves and individual flowers and on one branch is a robin, bright red breast gleaming and amongst all the green. You look at your boat and something that might be a whale and might be a rock and shrug your shoulders. Your jug looks good. It's a little lopsided and the spout isn't exactly even and the handle has an odd kink in it that refuses to be eased out, but for the first ever try, your mug is good. And it was a peaceful afternoon in this lovely cottage, with the tinkling sound of Penny's laughter trickling from the walls, with the rain pouring down outside and the gentle rhythm of the wheel going round and round and round. Penny says she will see you all next week, and you remove the slippers and push your feet into shoes that have dried in the warmth of the room and pull on your huge yellow coat and line up the fiddly zip at the bottom and pull it all the way to the top. And then you're outside, dashing over to the car and climbing into the seat behind Mr. Oak. It's only a matter of minutes before you are once more using the palm of your hand to clear a little patch in the steam so you can look outside and watch fragments of hedge and building and car, and you pull into the garage next to Forrest's house, and just before you leave to take Brooke home back to the shining red door of number 44, Forrest calls out and says, oh, he almost forgot, and dashes into the kitchen. He emerges with little bags, and in each bag is a thick slice of cake wrapped carefully in paper because it was his birthday, even though it was really his birthday three weeks before, and you get to take some cake home with you because that is the rule, he says. Brook slips her little bag under the blanket across her knees, and you put yours into the deep pocket of your coat and you dash out into the rain one last time, pushing her up to the red front door and waving cheerfully as you run down the path and along the sidewalk, then take careful, firm but gentle steps up the slippery stones to your own front door. Then you are inside and taking off the coat and your shoes and climbing the stairs, and suddenly you're tired, so tired from your day. And you think that just for a minute, you'll lie on your bed and close your eyes. And once more you're back in the warm room, the fire crackling in the stove at the far end, the wheel turning slowly, your hands wrapped around the grey clay and shaping it, watching it rise and fall, rise and fall as you ease your hands in and out, in and out. And there are two swans watching you, two swans that stand in such a way their bodies and necks form a heart together. And there's a robin with a bright red breast watching you from a tree. And over to the side is a basketball bouncing its way into the scene. And there is the gentle tinkle of laughter that tumbles down the wall and wraps you in the promise that this day, this day will be wonderful. Sa.