The Whale Who Sang The Stars: Children's Story For Sleep

In the deepest part of the sea,

Far below the bright chop and glitter of the waves,

Lived a whale named Solly.

He was enormous and gentle,

With skin like stormy sky and eyes full of ancient quiet.

The other whales spoke in calls and clicks and whistles,

But Solly sang.

His song was not like any other song in the sea.

It carried the dreams of the ocean.

Every note held a memory.

The sigh of a distant tide.

The hush of drifting sand.

The tiny crackle of shrimp in the dark.

The far-off echo of rain falling on the surface.

When Solly sang,

It felt as though the whole sea was breathing with him.

Most nights,

He drifted slowly through the deep water,

Listening.

He listened to the faint creaks of old coral.

The sleepy murmurs of fish.

The flutter of fins and the soft tap of shells.

He collected sounds the way some creatures collect shiny stones.

He did not hurry.

He had never hurried in his whole long life.

Solu swam through a forest of tall kelp,

The long ribbons swaying gently with the current.

They brushed against his sides like soft fingers,

Whispering secret rustling songs.

He slowed and turned,

Weaving between the swaying fronds,

And the kelp leaves whispered a low,

Leafy tune that wrapped itself around his heart.

He folded that sound into his memory,

Tucking it away for later.

He passed a deep,

Shadowy canyon.

Tiny shrimp crackled there like distant sparks,

Their small bodies making a steady,

Gentle snapping sound.

Solu paused to listen.

The crackle rose and fell like a tiny fire far away.

He added that rhythm to his growing song.

He moved on,

Gliding past a stretch of sandy seabed,

Where starfish lay still as dropped stars and sea cucumbers dozed in the soft dust.

Each time his great tail moved,

It brushed up a little cloud of sand.

The sand fell again in a long,

Slow curtain.

Even that soft falling sound slipped into his listening.

Tonight was no ordinary night.

Tonight was the night of the stars.

Once each year,

When the ocean felt especially deep and still,

Solu would rise from the darkness and sing the stars into the sky.

No one knew exactly how it worked.

No one remembered when it had first began.

They only knew that,

On this night,

Solu's song would lift and spread until it touched the place where sea turned into sky.

And when it did,

The stars would answer.

Down in the deep,

The water felt thick and velvety around him.

Solu closed his eyes for a moment.

He could feel the whole ocean waiting.

He could feel the tiny,

Quick hearts of little fish,

The slow,

Strong hearts of turtles and rays,

And the steady thrum of other whales far away.

Everything was settling.

Everything was growing quiet.

Solu took a deep,

Long breath,

Filling his great body with cool water and letting it out again in a slow,

Silent sigh.

Then he turned his nose towards the surface and began to rise.

He did not rush.

He never rushed.

If you had been beside him,

You might not even have noticed that he was moving at all.

But he was.

Little by little,

He glided upward.

On his way,

He passed a sea turtle,

Rocking gently inside her shell.

She floated in place,

Her flippers tucked in,

Her eyes closed in sleep.

In her dreams,

She was crawling up a warm,

Sandy beach,

Leaving a trail behind her in the smooth,

Damp sand.

Solu slowed and hummed a soft note just for her.

The turtle's breathing deepened.

One small bubble slipped from her beak and spiraled lazily upward.

Solu continued on.

A school of tiny fish drifted across his path,

Moving like a single,

Shimmering cloud.

They were sleepy,

Their fins moving just enough to keep them together.

As Solu glided underneath them,

They parted around him,

Each silver body flashing faintly in the dim light.

Their small scales made a sound like tiny bells when they brushed against each other.

Solu listened,

Smiled inside himself,

And kept their chiming tucked safely in his heart.

Farther up,

The water grew lighter,

The darkness softening from ink black to deep blue.

Solu passed a coral garden,

Where bright shapes and gentle bumps covered the rocks.

At night,

The coral polyps were open.

Their small,

Feathery arms spread to taste the water.

They were humming together,

A soft,

Wordless hum that thrummed through the stone.

Solu slowed almost to a stop.

He hovered there,

Enormous and still,

And let their hum fill him.

He could feel it in his bones,

Steady and calm.

He added their tune to his song.

A lazily drifting ray floated overhead,

Like a piece of night sky,

Its wide wings tipping this way and that.

It dipped one edge in greeting.

Solu dipped his head back.

No words were needed between them.

Their movements were hello enough.

Near the edge of the coral garden,

Solu saw a jellyfish glowing all on her own.

She was small and round,

With long,

Trailing threads that pulsed gently as she moved.

Her light was soft and golden,

Like a lantern in a dark window.

She drifted closer to Solu,

Unafraid.

For a moment,

They simply floated there together.

The little jellyfish's glow painting faint patterns on Solu's stormy skin.

And she pulsed once,

Twice,

Three times,

Sending a shiver of light through the water.

A clear,

Shimmering note rang out.

So delicate,

It was almost not a sound at all.

Solu caught it,

Cradling it like a tiny flame.

This would be the note that began the stars.

Thank you,

He sang softly,

Though his mouth barely moved.

The jellyfish pulsed again,

Pleased,

And drifted away to join her glowing sisters.

The water around Solu grew thinner,

Easier to move through.

He could feel a faint pull from above,

The gentle promise of the surface.

The ocean grew quieter.

Even the busy creatures,

The ones that would usually awake all night,

Had slowed.

The shrimps snapped less often.

The dolphins' clicks faded into soft sighs as they slept.

Crabs tucked themselves into rock crevices and stopped scraping their claws.

Seaweed settled.

Sand settled.

Shells settled.

It was as if the whole sea was holding its breath.

Solu rose,

And rose,

And rose.

At last,

The dimness above him turned to a pale,

Wavering silver.

The surface of the ocean lay just ahead,

A trembling skin between water and sky.

He slowed even more,

Careful not to break through too fast.

He had done this for so many years,

But still,

Every night of the stars felt sacred and new.

Very gently,

Solu lifted his head through the surface.

The air was cool against his skin.

The ocean around him lay almost completely still.

Far in the distance,

He could hear the soft rush of waves against the sleeping shore.

But here,

In this place,

The sea was calm as glass.

Above him,

The sky was dark and empty.

No stars yet,

Not one.

Solu floated there,

Half in the water and half out,

And took a long,

Deep breath.

The air flowed into him slow and smooth.

He held it for a moment,

Then he let it out in a low,

Quiet sigh that rippled across the water and vanished into the dark.

Below,

The ocean waited.

Tiny eyes blinked sleepily.

Tails stilled,

Fins rested.

It was time.

Solu closed his eyes.

He gathered the sounds he had collected.

The whisper of kelp.

The crackle of shrimp.

The hum of coral.

The gong of tiny silver scales.

The heartbeat of sleeping creatures.

The soft pulse of the glowing jellyfish.

He gathered the memory of waves he had heard a lifetime ago.

Rain that had fallen on the sea when he was young.

The deep,

Turning tides that had carried him through every year of his long life.

Inside him,

All of those sounds settled into place,

Like pieces of a puzzle finding where they belonged.

His whole body felt full of them.

His chest,

His throat,

His bones,

His great,

Wide tail.

Everything hummed.

And then Solu began to sing.

The first note was barely there.

A breath of sound that spread across the water like mist.

It curled into the sky,

Thin and soft.

High above,

In the empty dark,

Something listened.

Solu sang again,

This time a little stronger.

The note carried the kelp forest's leafy whisper,

The slow hum of coral,

And the shimmer of fish scales.

It was not loud.

It did not need to be loud.

It was wide.

It spread out in all directions,

Wrapping around waves and slipping into currents,

Stroking the sides of rocks and washing gently over resting shells.

Below,

The ocean grew even quieter.

Creatures that were still awake listened.

Creatures that were already asleep sank into deeper dreams,

Their hearts beating in time with Solu's song.

He kept singing.

His voice rose and fell,

Slow as tides,

Patient as the turning moon.

Each note carried something different.

The soft patter of sand,

The tiny fireworks of shrimp,

The deep drum of his own enormous heart.

The jellyfish's shimmering note danced over the top of everything,

Light and clear.

The sky,

Which had been black and blank,

Shivered.

At first,

Nothing seemed to happen.

Then,

Far above,

A single,

Small point of light appeared.

It flickered,

Wondering if it was welcome.

Solu's song curled around it,

Gentle and sure,

And the light steadied.

One star.

Solu sang on.

His song flowed in long,

Slow waves,

Never rushing,

Never forcing.

He knew the stars listened best when there was plenty of space between the notes.

He left little pockets of silence,

Soft and deep,

Where the night could breathe.

In those spaces,

The sky began to glow.

Another star blinked awake,

And another,

And another.

They rose out of the darkness like tiny lanterns,

Answering the call of Solu's voice.

Some appeared in small clusters,

Huddled together like families.

Others stood alone,

Quiet and brave.

They shimmered,

Slow and steady,

Not needing to dazzle or shout.

They simply glowed.

Below,

A sleeping dolphin rolled over in her dreams,

Her lips curling into the hint of a smile.

A crab loosened its grip on a rock and let itself rest fully.

A baby turtle still tucked in her egg deep beneath the warm sand far away,

Wriggled once,

As if feeling the song through the earth.

Solu continued to sing.

His voice moved lower now,

Deeper and slower.

Each note stretched out like a long,

Gentle yawn.

The stars above seemed to relax into their places,

Settling into patterns they had worn for ages.

They did not rush,

Either.

They did not have to.

They simply appeared when the song reached them,

One by one,

Until the whole sky seemed dusted with quiet fire.

The surface of the ocean caught their light and held it,

Shaking it gently in every small wave.

Ripples of starlight ran across Solu's back and down his sides.

He looked as if he were wearing the night sky itself.

His song wrapped around everything.

The water,

The air,

The sleeping world.

It carried the shimmer of waves and the dreams of tiny creatures.

The hush of long time,

The promise of morning far away.

It cradled the ocean as though the whole sea were a child being rocked softly to sleep.

At last,

When the sky was full,

When not one more star could fit comfortably in the dark,

Solu let his song slow.

The notes grew softer,

Shorter,

Like footsteps fading down a hallway.

He left more silence between them now,

Long stretches of stillness where only the sound of a gentle,

Distant wave could be heard.

Then,

Finally,

He let the last note drift out of him like a sigh.

It rose into the sky,

Touched the highest,

Faintest star and vanished.

The night of stars was complete.

For a moment,

Solu stayed at the surface.

His huge body rocking slightly with the tiny movements of the water.

He opened his eyes.

Above him,

The sky shone with a thousand slow,

Steady lights.

They were not sharp or glaring.

They were soft and patient.

Like eyes that had seen many nights and would see many more.

They seemed to be listening back to him now,

Watching over the ocean with quiet care.

Solu felt a deep,

Peaceful warmth move through him.

He was tired,

But it was a good tired.

The kind that comes from doing what you are meant to do.

Slowly,

He drew one more breath of cool night air.

Then he dipped his head and slid beneath the surface again.

The water closed over him with barely a splash.

At once,

The sounds of the sea wrapped around him again.

The distant crackle of shrimp beginning to wake.

The soft rasp of something small moving over rock.

The low murmur of another whale far away humming to herself.

Solu did not sing now.

The stars were already shining.

His work for this night was done.

He let his body grow heavy and drift downward,

Back into the deep.

As he sank,

The starlight followed him only a little way,

Then faded.

The water grew darker and darker,

Until it was thick velvet again.

Down in the quiet,

Solu curled his great tail slightly and slowed.

Here,

The pressure of the water felt like a blanket.

Here,

The noise of the world was soft and far off.

He could feel the faint echo of his own song still vibrating tenderly through the sea.

He would sing for the stars again,

When the year had turned and the ocean was ready.

He would gather new sounds and new dreams.

Add them to the old ones,

And lift his voice when the night cooled.

Now he let the deep cradle him.

He listened to the slow,

Enormous heartbeat of the ocean,

And allowed his huge eyes to drift almost closed.

Above him,

The stars he had called shone on,

Keeping watch over the sleeping world.

Below,

Solu rested,

The memory of starlight trailing softly behind him.

A silent song,

Still holding the sea as it slept.