Wilbur the Wombat and the Sleepy Moon

A slow, soft bedtime story about winding down, with a goodnight that comes round again and again.

Wilbur was a small wombat with a round tummy and very short legs. He lived in a snug burrow under an old gum tree, and every evening, as the sky turned the colour of plums, his mother tucked him in.

But tonight Wilbur could not sleep. He turned left, and he turned right. He counted his toes, and there were still four on each foot. “I am not sleepy at all,” he whispered.

So Wilbur waddled out of his burrow to ask the moon. The moon was big and round and very, very quiet. “Dear Moon,” said Wilbur, “why can I not sleep?”

The moon smiled a slow, silver smile. “Walk a little way and say goodnight to everyone you meet,” she said. “By the time you reach everyone, you might find you are ready.”

Wilbur walked past the tall gum tree. The leaves were rustling softly. “Goodnight, gum tree,” said Wilbur. The gum tree swayed, as if to say goodnight back.

He walked past the creek. The water was murmuring over smooth, round stones. “Goodnight, creek,” said Wilbur. The creek gurgled a sleepy little song.

He walked past the wattle bush, where a koala dozed with her eyes shut tight. “Goodnight, koala,” whispered Wilbur, and the koala gave a tiny snore.

Then he walked past a hollow log, where two possums were curled up like warm furry buns. “Goodnight, possums,” said Wilbur, and he yawned his first big yawn.

Wilbur turned for home, and his legs felt heavy and slow. “Goodnight, wattle,” he mumbled. “Goodnight, creek. Goodnight, gum tree.” Each goodnight was quieter than the one before.

At the door of his burrow, he looked up one last time. “Goodnight, Moon,” he said. The moon winked, and Wilbur crawled into his soft bed, tucked in his nose, and fell fast asleep.

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