Bram and the Moon’s Missing Verse

Each evening, Bram the bear sat beneath a pine tree near Juniper’s Cove and sang to the moon.

His soft voice made the pine needles tremble.

Lila liked to listen on walks with her grandad.

Bram always ended with the same little verse:

“Rest your silver, rest your glow.

Dream where quiet breezes go.”

Usually, the moon shone on.

But one evening it gave an enormous yawn, slid behind the hill, and disappeared.

Bram stopped singing.

“Well,” he said. “That was new.”

The following night, Lila and Grandad returned with a small lantern.

The stars were out. The moon was not.

Otis the owl waited on his branch with three pinecones arranged beside him.

“My moonlight juggling show begins shortly,” he announced.

He waited some more.

Mabel the badger had brought a white flower to watch it open under the moon.

It remained tightly shut.

And a young fox named Fern kept squinting at her reflection in a puddle.

“I can’t tell whether my whiskers are tidy.”

Bram sat behind the pine tree, examining a beetle.

“Did you sing again?” Lila asked.

“Only a hum.”

“And?”

“The hill snored.”

From beyond the hill came a soft, silvery rumble.

Bram covered his face with both paws.

“I think I sang the moon too well.”

Grandad lifted the lantern.

“Then let’s see where it has settled.”

They followed the forest path. Lila carried the lantern; Bram ducked beneath branches.

Fern hurried ahead, checking every puddle.

Beyond the hill lay a little meadow.

The moon had curled into a glowing ball just above the grass. Wisps of cloud were tucked around it like a blanket.

Every time it snored, a silver ripple ran through the clover.

“Excuse me. We have appointments.”

The moon snuffled.

Mabel held up her unopened flower.

“Some of us have waited all day.”

The moon rolled over. Its cloud blanket covered one cheek.

Bram’s ears drooped.

“It looks so comfortable,” he whispered. “I don’t want to startle it.”

“Maybe it needs breakfast,” suggested Fern.

She fetched three blackberries and placed them on a leaf.

Bram added a spoonful of honey from the little jar he carried for his own supper.

“Breakfast!” they whispered together.

The moon smiled in its sleep.

A pale dream floated above its head: a silver pancake as big as a pond.

Fern looked at her three berries.

“We may need a larger leaf.”

The dream dissolved. The moon kept sleeping.

Lila noticed that its fingers were tapping against the cloud.

Otis suggested a wake-up parade.

“No banging,” Bram said quickly.

“Certainly not. I’m a professional.”

Otis tapped two pinecones together. Mabel brushed the grass with a fern frond. Fern shook a dry seedpod.

They made the smallest parade noises in the world.

Tap. Swish. Shikka.

The moon’s foot twitched.

Then it snored in time with them.

Otis lowered his pinecones.

“We appear to have become a band for its dreams.”

Bram sat down with a sigh.

Lila watched the moon’s tapping fingers again.

“Bram,” she said, “what comes after your quiet verse?”

“Nothing. That’s where I stop.”

“Could that be the trouble?”

“You told it to rest. Maybe it’s waiting for you to tell it what happens next.”

Lila crouched beside the cloud blanket.

“Moon? Would you like the next bit?”

One silver eyelid lifted, just a crack.

“Mm,” murmured the moon.

Bram straightened.

“I haven’t got a next bit.”

“Then we can make one,” Lila said.

The moon’s fingers tapped once, as if asking them to begin.

Bram tried a line.

“Wake up, moon, and climb up high—”

The moon’s eyelid closed again.

“Too much like an order,” said Lila.

Grandad sat on a fallen log.

“What might the moon enjoy seeing?”

“My juggling,” said Otis.

“My flower,” said Mabel.

“My extremely tidy whiskers,” said Fern.

Lila smiled.

“Let’s invite it.”

They tried phrases while Bram hummed. Lila chose kind words that fitted his tune.

At last, she nodded.

“Sing it as though you’re opening a door.”

Bram took a breath.

“Silver friend, the sky is wide.

Would you like to step outside?

Flowers wait and pinecones fly.

Come and see us from the sky.”

The moon opened both eyes.

“Pinecones fly?” it asked sleepily.

“Very briefly,” said Otis.

“And there’s a flower?”

Mabel lifted the little pot.

The moon pushed back its blanket.

Bram’s voice wobbled.

“I’m sorry I made you miss your evening.”

The moon stretched one shining arm.

“I did need a rest. But I nearly missed the interesting bit.”

The moon rose a little, then sank.

“My cloud is stuck.”

A corner of the blanket had caught on a twig.

Lila lifted it free. Bram held the other edge so it would not trail through the honey.

The moon floated upward.

Otis tossed a pinecone.

He caught it.

He tossed two.

He caught one.

One landed in Bram’s lap.

“An excellent trick,” said Bram. “I’m the ending.”

The moon laughed, and its glow spread over the meadow like warm milk.

Up it went, above the pines and into the waiting sky.

Mabel’s flower opened, petal by petal.

Fern examined herself in the bright puddle.

“Oh. There’s a leaf on my nose.”

Lila plucked it off.

Otis managed all three pinecones for exactly one wonderful moment. Everyone cheered softly.

Bram looked up.

“Shall I stop singing altogether?”

“Please don’t,” said the moon. “Just remember the next verse.”

Lila leaned against Grandad’s arm.

“And sometimes ask whether your listener is ready for a rest.”

Bram nodded.

After that, Bram still sang beneath the pine tree.

But he watched the moon while he sang, and saved the invitation for nights when it lingered low.

Lila and Grandad walked home under a bright silver path.

“Did the moon really need us?” Lila asked.

Grandad smiled.

“It certainly stayed for the show.”

Behind them, Bram tried a new final line:

“And if a pinecone falls tonight,

A bear will catch it. Sleep just right.”

From high above the rooftops came a quiet, warm chuckle.