The Bear Who Couldn't Sleep

In the big green forest, autumn was nearly over.

The leaves had turned gold, then orange, then brown, and now they lay in deep, crunchy heaps on the ground. The wind was cool. The nights were long. And all the animals were getting ready for winter.

The squirrels were hiding their acorns. The geese were flying south in long, honking lines. And the bears were getting ready for the longest, deepest, cosiest sleep of all.

"It's nearly time, Little Bear," said Mama Bear, as they shuffled through the leaves. "Time for the long winter sleep."

Little Bear had never had a long winter sleep before. Last winter he had been too tiny to remember.

"How long is it?" he asked.

"From the first snow," said Mama Bear, "all the way until spring. We'll sleep, and sleep, and sleep, and when we wake up, there will be flowers."

Little Bear thought that sounded wonderful.

He did not yet know that sleep, sometimes, is a slippery thing.

Mama Bear's den was under the roots of a great old oak tree. It was dark and dry and lined with soft leaves and moss, and it smelled of earth and pine and home.

Mama Bear yawned an enormous yawn. She turned around three times. She curled up in a big, warm, furry heap.

"Goodnight, Little Bear," she murmured. "Sleep tight."

And in no time at all, she was snoring.

Grrrrr-shhhh. Grrrrr-shhhh.

Little Bear snuggled into her soft side. He closed his eyes. He waited for sleep to come.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But sleep did not come. His eyes kept popping open by themselves. His ears kept listening. His nose kept sniffing. He felt as wide awake as a bird at sunrise.

"Snuggle down, little bear, soft and slow," Mama had sung to him when he was small. "The stars are out and the wind is low."

Little Bear snuggled down. But sleep still would not come.

Little Bear tried lying on his tummy. Then on his back. Then on his left side, and then his right.

He tried scrunching his eyes shut very, very tightly, until he saw little sparkly dots. That didn't work.

He tried telling himself, very firmly, "Go to sleep, Little Bear!" That didn't work either.

His paws were wiggly. His toes were twitchy. His ears were itchy, and his head was full of busy thoughts that buzzed around like bees.

What if I never fall asleep? he thought. What if Mama sleeps all winter, and I'm the only one awake in the whole wide forest?

That thought made his tummy feel fluttery.

Little Bear sighed a big, huffy sigh. Then, very quietly, so as not to wake Mama, he crept to the mouth of the den and poked his nose out into the night.

The air was cold and sweet. The moon was round and bright. And the forest was full of soft silver light.

"Hoo," said a voice above him. "Hoo is that?"

Little Bear looked up. On a mossy branch sat Owl, round and feathery, blinking her big dark eyes.

"It's me," said Little Bear. "I can't sleep."

"Can't sleep?" said Owl. "Well, I'm awake all night, so I'm afraid I'm no good at sleeping. But I do know one thing about it."

"What?" asked Little Bear.

"Sleep is shy," said Owl. "If you chase it, it runs away. But if you sit very still and breathe very slowly, sometimes it creeps up close."

"How do I breathe slowly?" asked Little Bear.

Owl fluffed her feathers. "Imagine you are smelling a flower," she said. "A big, sweet flower. Breathe in through your nose, slow and deep."

Little Bear breathed in. Sniiiiff.

"Now imagine you are blowing a dandelion," said Owl. "Blow out through your mouth, slower still, so the seeds float gently away."

Little Bear breathed out. Whoooooo.

"Again," said Owl softly. "Smell the flower..."

Little Bear breathed in, slow and deep. Sniiiiff.

"...and blow the seeds."

He breathed out, slower still. Whoooooo.

"And again," said Owl. "Smell the flower..."

Sniiiiff.

"...and blow the seeds."

Whoooooo.

You can try it too, if you like. Smell the flower... and blow the seeds. Smell the flower... and blow the seeds.

Little Bear breathed with Owl, in and out, in and out, while the moon shone down and the branches creaked gently in the wind. His fluttery tummy began to feel a little less fluttery. His busy thoughts began to buzz a little more slowly.

"There," said Owl. "That's my trick. You can take it with you wherever you go. Nobody can ever take it away."

"Thank you, Owl," said Little Bear.

He gave a little stretch. He felt calmer. Softer.

But he was still, if he was honest, quite awake.

Little Bear padded a little way along the path, to the place where the forest met the meadow. The grass was silver with frost and crunched softly under his paws.

In the middle of the meadow sat Rabbit, sitting up tall on her back legs, with her long ears turning this way and that.

"Hello, Little Bear," she said. "You're up late."

"I can't sleep," said Little Bear. "Owl taught me to breathe slowly, and it helped. But I still feel all wiggly inside."

Rabbit's nose twitched. "Ah," she said. "Wiggles. I know all about wiggles. Rabbits are the wiggliest animals in the whole forest."

She hopped a little closer.

"When I'm too wiggly to sleep," she said, "I give my wiggles a squeeze. And then I let them go."

"How do you squeeze a wiggle?" asked Little Bear.

Rabbit's whiskers trembled. She looked very much as if she was trying not to laugh.

"I'll show you," she said.

"First, your toes," said Rabbit. "Curl them up tight, as tight as you can. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze..."

Little Bear curled up his toes.

"...and let go."

His toes went soft and floppy.

"Now your paws," said Rabbit. "Make them into little balls. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze... and let go."

Little Bear squeezed his paws. Then he let them go, and they felt warm and loose.

"Now lift your shoulders right up to your ears," said Rabbit, "like this. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze... and let them drop."

Little Bear's shoulders went up, up, up. Then down they dropped, plop, like two heavy apples.

"And last of all," said Rabbit, "your face. Scrunch it up like you've eaten the sourest berry in the world."

Little Bear scrunched up his face. Rabbit scrunched up hers. They looked at each other and laughed.

"And let go," said Rabbit.

Little Bear's face went smooth and soft. All over, he felt a little floppier than before.

What could you squeeze and let go right now?

"Thank you, Rabbit," said Little Bear, and he wandered on, a little more slowly now, his paws soft and his shoulders loose.

He came to the stream, where the water ran dark and silver over the stones. There, with her head bent low to drink, stood Doe.

She lifted her head and looked at him with her big, gentle eyes.

"Little Bear," she said, in her soft, low voice. "Can't you sleep?"

"Not yet," said Little Bear. "I've been breathing slowly like Owl, and squeezing and letting go like Rabbit. But my head is still full of busy thoughts."

Doe nodded slowly. "When my head is busy," she said, "I stop thinking, and I listen. I listen to all the quiet sounds of the night. One by one."

"I don't think the night has any sounds," said Little Bear. "It's very quiet."

Doe smiled. "Close your eyes," she said. "And listen."

So Little Bear closed his eyes, and listened.

At first, Little Bear heard nothing at all.

Then, very softly, he heard the stream. Splish, splash, trickle, trickle, as it tumbled over the stones.

"I can hear the water," he whispered.

"What else?" said Doe.

He listened again. High above, the wind was moving through the treetops. Shhhh. Shhhh. Like someone saying hush.

"I can hear the wind," he whispered.

"What else?"

Far away, so far away it was almost not there at all, came a soft sound. Hoo. Hoo. It was Owl, calling from her branch.

"I can hear Owl."

"And what else?" said Doe, more softly still.

Little Bear listened and listened, until he heard the quietest sound of all. It was slow and soft and steady, in and out, in and out. It was his own breathing.

"I can hear me," he whispered.

"Yes," said Doe. "That's the best sound of all."

What quiet sounds can you hear right now?

Little Bear thanked Doe and padded on, slowly, slowly, under the tall dark trees.

At the foot of a hedge, he found a big heap of leaves that rustled and shuffled all by itself. Out of it poked a little pointy nose.

"Oh!" said Hedgehog. "Little Bear! I'm just making my bed for the winter. I sleep all winter too, you know."

"I'm supposed to be asleep already," said Little Bear. "But I can't. Do you have a sleepy trick?"

Hedgehog thought about it, his nose twitching.

"I do," he said. "When I'm curling up to sleep, I think about the cosiest place I know. I think about it very carefully. What it looks like. What it smells like. How warm it is. And before I know it, I'm curled up there, asleep."

"What's your cosiest place?" asked Little Bear.

Hedgehog smiled a small, prickly smile. "This one," he said, patting his heap of leaves. "Right here. What's yours?"

Little Bear wasn't sure. So he closed his eyes, and he began to think.

Little Bear thought about the cosiest place he knew.

He thought about a big flat rock beside the river in the summertime, warm from the sun. He thought about the smell of wild honey and sweet clover. He thought about the sound of bees humming lazily among the flowers.

And then he thought about Mama.

He thought about how warm she was, and how soft her fur felt against his cheek. He thought about the slow, steady thump of her heart, ba-boom, ba-boom, and the way she hummed when she was happy.

"My cosiest place," he said slowly, "is curled up next to Mama, on the warm rock, in the sunshine."

"That sounds like a very good one," said Hedgehog, with a yawn.

Little Bear opened his eyes. He wasn't on the warm rock. He was in the cold, moonlit forest. But somehow, he still felt a little bit warm inside, as if he'd carried the sunshine with him.

What's your cosiest place?

Little Bear said goodnight to Hedgehog, who was already curling up small in his leaves, and he wandered into a little clearing.

There, on top of a tall stalk of grass, sat a tiny wood mouse, swaying gently, gazing up at the sky.

"Hello, Mouse," said Little Bear. "What are you doing?"

"Counting the stars," said Mouse. "I do it every night."

Little Bear looked up. The sky was so full of stars that it looked as though somebody had spilled a whole jar of glitter across it.

"But there are too many to count," he said.

"Oh, I never get to the end," said Mouse cheerfully. "That's the best part. I count them slowly, one by one, and somewhere along the way, my eyes get heavy, and I fall asleep. I've never once got past twenty."

"Can I count with you?" asked Little Bear.

"Of course," said Mouse. "Lie down on your back. It's easier that way."

So Little Bear lay down in the soft grass, and looked up.

"One," said Mouse, pointing to a big bright star right above them.

"One," said Little Bear.

"Two," said Mouse, pointing to a little twinkly one beside it.

"Two."

"Three... that one, by the tall pine tree."

"Three," said Little Bear, slowly.

"Four... five..."

"Four... five..."

They counted slowly, slowly, one star at a time. With each star, Little Bear's eyes grew a little heavier. With each number, his breath grew a little slower.

"Six..."

"Six..."

"Seven..."

"Seven..."

Little Bear's eyelids drooped. His paws felt warm and heavy. The stars seemed to twinkle more softly now, as if they were getting sleepy too.

"Eight..." said Mouse, with a tiny yawn, and she curled up into a little ball on Little Bear's warm, furry tummy.

"Eight..." whispered Little Bear.

And then, for the very first time that night, Little Bear yawned.

It was a great, big, enormous yawn. It started in his toes and stretched all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Now that," said a deep, gravelly voice, "is a proper yawn."

Out of the shadows shuffled Old Badger, with his black-and-white striped face and his slow, rolling walk. He sat down beside Little Bear in the grass.

"I've been watching you all night, young bear," he said. "Breathing with Owl, squeezing with Rabbit, listening with Doe, dreaming with Hedgehog, counting with Mouse. You've worked very hard at falling asleep."

"I have," said Little Bear, sleepily. "But I'm not asleep yet."

"Hmm," said Badger. "Well. Maybe that's the trouble. Falling asleep isn't really something you do. It's something you stop doing."

Little Bear didn't understand. So he lay very still, and thought about it, and watched the stars.

Old Badger didn't say anything for a long time. He just sat there, quiet and patient, like an old tree.

"Here is my trick," said Badger at last, in his slow, deep voice. "Imagine you are a smooth round stone, sinking down to the bottom of a pond. Down, down, down, through the cool, quiet water."

Little Bear imagined it.

"Your paws are heavy," said Badger. "Heavy, heavy stone paws, sinking down."

Little Bear's paws felt heavy.

"Your legs are heavy. Sinking down."

His legs felt heavy, too.

"Your tummy is heavy. Your shoulders are heavy. Your head is heavy, sinking softly down into the soft, soft mud at the bottom of the pond, where everything is quiet and still."

Little Bear felt as heavy as a stone. Heavier than he had ever felt before. So heavy that he didn't think he could lift a single paw, even if he wanted to.

And he didn't want to.

"There," said Badger softly. "Now you don't need to do anything at all."

You can be a heavy stone too. Heavy paws. Heavy legs. Heavy head. Sinking softly down.

"I think," said Little Bear very slowly, "I should go home to Mama now."

"I think so too," said Badger.

Little Bear lifted Mouse very gently from his tummy and tucked her into a nest of soft grass, where she sighed and went on sleeping. Then he padded slowly back along the path, his heavy paws making soft prints in the frost.

He passed Hedgehog's heap of leaves, gently rising and falling, as Hedgehog snored a tiny snore.

He passed the stream, where Doe was lying down among the ferns, her eyes half closed.

He passed the meadow, where Rabbit had gone down into her burrow for the night.

And as he passed the old oak tree, Owl hooted softly from her branch. "Goodnight, Little Bear."

"Goodnight, Owl," he whispered.

Something cold and soft landed on the end of his nose. Little Bear looked up.

It was snowing.

The snowflakes floated down from the sky, slowly, slowly, dancing and drifting in the moonlight.

They landed on the branches. They landed on the path. They landed on Little Bear's ears and on his paws and on the tip of his tongue, where they melted, cold and sweet.

Little Bear had never seen snow before. He stood very still and watched it fall, one flake at a time, the way he had watched the stars.

It made no sound at all. It was the quietest thing he had ever seen.

The whole forest seemed to be holding its breath, as a soft white blanket settled gently over everything: the trees, the meadow, the stream, the hedgehog's leaves.

"From the first snow," Mama had said, "all the way until spring."

Little Bear yawned again, a long, slow, sleepy yawn.

"Snuggle down, little bear, soft and slow," he whispered to himself. "The stars are out and the wind is low."

And he padded home through the falling snow.

Little Bear crept back into the den. It was warm and dark and smelled of home.

Mama Bear stirred. She opened one sleepy eye.

"Little Bear?" she murmured. "Where have you been? Your fur is all cold and sparkly."

"It's snowing, Mama," whispered Little Bear. "And I couldn't sleep. So I went out, and all my friends helped me."

And he told her about Owl, and smelling the flower and blowing the seeds. About Rabbit, and squeezing and letting go. About Doe, and listening to the night. About Hedgehog, and the cosiest place. About Mouse, and counting the stars. And about Old Badger, and being as heavy as a stone.

Mama Bear listened, and smiled a slow, warm smile.

"Well," she said softly, "what a lucky bear you are. You've got a whole forest full of friends, and a whole pocketful of sleepy tricks."

She wrapped her big, warm paws around him and pulled him close.

"Shall we try them together?" she whispered.

So they did.

They smelled the flower... and blew the seeds. Sniiiiff... whoooooo. Sniiiiff... whoooooo.

They squeezed their toes... and let go. They squeezed their paws... and let go.

They listened. To the hush of the snow. To the creak of the old oak. To the slow, steady thump of Mama's heart, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.

Little Bear thought about his cosiest place. And he realised he was already there: curled up next to Mama, warm and safe.

He started to count the stars he could remember. One... two... three...

He felt his paws grow heavy. His legs grow heavy. His head grow heavy, sinking softly down, down, down into the warm, soft leaves.

He didn't need to chase sleep. He didn't need to try. He just lay there, warm and still and quiet.

And slowly, softly, shyly, sleep crept up close.

Outside, the snow kept falling. It fell on the meadow, where Rabbit was asleep in her burrow. It fell on the stream, where Doe was dreaming among the ferns. It fell on Hedgehog's heap of leaves, and on Mouse's nest of grass, and on Badger's cosy sett beneath the hill.

High in the old oak, Owl fluffed up her feathers and watched over them all.

And inside the den, beneath the roots of the great old tree, Mama Bear and Little Bear slept.

They slept, and they slept, and they slept.

Snuggle down, little bear, soft and slow,
the stars are out and the wind is low.

Smell the flower. Blow the seeds.
Squeeze, and let go.
Listen to the quiet.
Think of your cosiest place.
Count the stars, one by one.
Heavy as a stone, sinking softly down.

Snuggle down, little one, soft and slow.
The stars are out, and the wind is low.

Goodnight, Little Bear.

Goodnight.