A Chat with the Sleepy Moon

Barnaby, with his net still dangling limply from his paw, slumped against the cool glass of his window. The stars, bless their twinkling little hearts, were still at it. They winked and blinked, sending little shivers of light right into his fuzzy bear eyes. It was like a thousand tiny disco balls had been sprinkled across the inky sky, and Barnaby, who was very much *not* in the mood for a disco, was starting to feel quite grumpy indeed.

He sighed, a big, gusty bear sigh that ruffled his fur. His giant star blanket idea, which had seemed so brilliant just moments ago, now felt a little… impossible. How could he possibly scoop up all those giggling, zipping, zooming pinpricks of light? His net was good for catching wiggly worms and the occasional runaway berry, but stars? Stars were a whole different ballgame. A very fast, very bright, very *annoying* ballgame.

He squinted up at the sky again. The stars seemed to be having a grand old time, dancing and shimmering. He imagined them whispering secrets to each other, their tiny voices like the rustle of leaves, but much, much brighter. It was just too much! His cozy bed, usually the most peaceful place in the whole wide world, felt like a brightly lit stage with the stars as the uninvited, boisterous performers.