Upon The Crest Of A Moon.

By

Reading Is Magic

As the stars vanished, one by one, the sun’s rays rose up over the land of green;

High above those getting ready for their day, is a place often dreamed of yet never seen.

In the white puff, fluff of the wisps above, where rivers dance over rocks, past cottage and keep,

While all others were bouncing off to school, one little cloud lay fast asleep.

Chester Cumulus was his name. A white fluffy ball with eyes and a nose.

The kind of cloud that snoozes in the day, in his big fluffy house the colour of snow.

Now Chester wasn’t clever like his sister Rain, or big and strong like cousin Storm.

No, Chester was just one little cloud, who liked to sleep in for far too long.

His mother had told him, “Chester, dear, don’t worry one day you will find your place.”

But Chester worried because he never grew, stayed a cotton white puff with a little face.

In school he wasn’t good at maths or art, and writing didn’t make sense at all;

He couldn’t do science or history, play instruments or kick a ball.

So Chester snuggled deeper into his bed, no use for school for this sad little cloud.

Then, all of a sudden a voice woke him up: big and bouncy, and awfully loud.

“Hello?” said Chester rubbing his eyes. “Who are you?” he asked the bright coloured girl.

“I’m Wispy,” the girl answered, in joyful voice. “I heard you don’t know where you fit in the world.”

“I don’t,” said Chester, sad and down. “There is nothing I’m good at, nothing at all.

“Nonsense,” said Wispy and with a wave of her arm, they appeared beside a huge waterfall.

“What is it?” asked Chester, not daring to look. He didn’t like heights not one little bit.

“They’re dreams,” answered Wispy with a smile on her face. “They belong to the ones below us… all the little kids.”

Chester reached out to touch but Wispy waved again, and they were in a room with one sleeping boy.

“Wave your arms… like this,” Wispy said, as she flapped her arms and sang a song.

Chester did as told and miraculously, the water of dreams poured from the ceiling above.

It poured over the boy who smiled in his sleep, and mumbled softly about all the things that he loved.

“That’s amazing!” said Wispy, grin wide on her face.

“On first go too, you gave him the best dream of all!”

“What is it?” asked Chester watching the boy.

“He’s in the world cup… scoring a goal.

Chester clapped his hands, he loved that dream, when the cloudies were struggling, down on their luck.

He’d come onto the field and take on the defence… and score the goal that won the cup!

“See, Chester,” said Wispy as she flew them home. “You’re special, different and you should feel proud.

You send children to sleep and give them dreams. For you Chester, my friend, are a little Dream Cloud.

Now, Chester awoke in his own little bed. In his fluffy white pyjamas, in his fluffy white room.

He smiled from ear to ear. “A dream cloud, I am… and I’ll dance upon the crest of the moon.”