There is a river that moves like a long, warm breath.
It is called the Hushabye River, and it is never in a hurry. Its water is wide and dark and kind, lit from above by a moon so round and steady it looks like something placed there on purpose. Tonight a little boat drifts along the middle of it — woven from moonlight, humming very softly to itself — carrying one small, green, unhurried turtle named Marlow.
Marlow lay back against a cushion of river-reeds, tucked his small feet beneath him, and watched the stars come out, one... by one... by one. He was heading, as he always was, toward the faraway Sea of Dreams. But there was no rush. There never was. The river knew the way, and the boat knew the river, and Marlow knew that the best things on the Hushabye River were never found by hurrying toward them — only by drifting, and waiting, and seeing what came round the next soft bend.
For a long, gentle while, there was only the hum of the boat, and the hush of the water, and the slow turning of the stars.
And then, around the first soft bend, Marlow heard something.
It was not a loud something. Nothing on the Hushabye River was ever loud. It was a small, sad little sound — a sigh, almost — coming from the riverbank up ahead. Marlow lifted his head and blinked his sleepy eyes.
There, leaning out over the water, was an enormous old willow tree. Her long branches hung all the way down to the river, trailing in it like loose green hair, and she was sighing, very softly, to herself.
"Good evening," said Marlow, in his quiet voice, as his boat drifted near. "Are you quite all right?"
The willow startled, and all her leaves shivered. "Oh," she said. "Oh, I didn't see you there, little one. Forgive me. I'm only a bit muddled tonight, that's all."
"Muddled?" said Marlow. He let his boat come to rest among her trailing branches, where the water was still and warm. "Slow and soft. Tell me about it."
The willow sighed again. "Every night," she said, "for as long as anyone can remember, I have hummed the river to sleep. All the little fish, and the sleepy frogs, and the snails in the reeds — they wait for my lullaby. It is my favourite thing in all the world." She drooped. "But tonight... tonight I have forgotten how it goes. I have reached and reached for it, and it simply isn't there. And without my lullaby, however will the river fall asleep?"
Marlow thought about this for a moment, the way he thought about most things: slowly, and softly. He did not think it was such a terrible muddle. He thought it was the kind of muddle that comes when you try too hard to remember a gentle thing.
"I think," said Marlow, "that a lullaby is not a thing you can reach for. I think it's a thing that has to drift back to you. Like the river. You can't pull the river along faster, can you?"
"No," admitted the willow.
"No," said Marlow. "You only let it carry you. So let's not reach for the song. Let's just... be quiet a while, you and I, and see if it comes drifting home."
And so they were quiet.
Marlow listened to the river breathing. The willow let her branches go loose and still in the water. The moon slid a little higher. And somewhere far off, a single nightbird called once, and then tucked its head beneath its wing.
After a while — a slow, soft, unhurried while — the willow gave the smallest little gasp.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh. I think... I think I can feel the very beginning of it. The first three notes. They're here, on the tip of my leaves." She paused. "But only the first three. The rest is still lost."
"Then hum me the three you have," said Marlow, settling deeper into his reeds, "and we'll see where they want to go."
So the willow hummed. Three small notes, low and warm, like the last light of evening. Mmm... mmm... mmm. They floated out over the water and lay down on it, soft as petals.
And the river — the slow, kind Hushabye River — heard its own lullaby beginning, and it could not help itself. The water hummed the next three notes back. Mmm... mmm... mmm.
The willow's leaves trembled with delight. "That's it," she breathed. "That's where they go. Oh, how could I forget — the river always knew the second part. We hum it together. We always have."
And so they hummed it together, the old willow and the slow river: she gave a little of the song, and the river gave a little back, around and around, the way a lullaby is meant to go. The sleepy frogs settled. The little fish drifted down among the cool reeds. The snails pulled in their gentle horns. And Marlow, listening from his boat of moonlight, felt his own eyes growing heavy, and heavier, and heavier still.
"Thank you, little one," the willow whispered, when at last every creature on the riverbank was fast asleep. "You didn't give me the song. You only helped me stop reaching for it, so it could find its own way home."
"Slow and soft," murmured Marlow, very nearly asleep himself. "That's the way."
The willow lifted one long branch — ever so gently — and gave Marlow's little boat the softest push, back out onto the silver path of the moon. "Off you go, then," she said, "down the slow Hushabye River. Sleep softly, Marlow."
And the boat began, once more, to drift.
Marlow lay back against his reeds. The willow's lullaby followed him for a while, growing fainter and softer, until it was only a part of the hush of the water. The stars turned, slowly. The moon held its long silver path open before him. And the little boat made of moonlight hummed its own low hum, and carried him on, around the gentle curve of the night.
Marlow's eyes were nearly closed now. But just before they did — just as the boat rounded the very next soft bend in the river — he thought he saw, far off downstream, a small and curious light. A gentle green glow, low over the water, blinking on and off, on and off, like something small and shy saying hello.
"How lovely," Marlow thought, sleepily. "I wonder... I wonder what could be glowing, just around the bend."
But that, little one, is a tale for tomorrow night.
So close your eyes, and let the river breathe you down to sleep. Slow and soft. That's the way.
Sleep softly.
Marlow will wait for you, just around the bend.