The river carried Marlow the little turtle on through the soft middle of the night, slow and gentle, the way it had carried him around every quiet bend before. He was sleeping deep in the moonlight boat, warm and safe, and the slow and sleepy star still kept its low and kindly light upon the valley.
And now the moon, who had been climbing all the long evening, came at last to the very top of the sky. She was round and full and the colour of warm milk, and she looked down at the wide dark water below her.
And the moon did a quiet and lovely thing. She laid her light down upon the river, all in one long, shining road. It stretched from the far dark shore all the way to the little boat, a road of soft silver lying smooth across the water, so that wherever the river went, the moonlight went with it.
Marlow's boat drifted onto that shining road, and the road held the boat the way a gentle hand holds something dear.
"I will come with you," said the moon to the little sleeping turtle, in a voice as soft as the light itself. "You do not have to travel the night alone."
And so the moon went too.
When the river curved to the left, the road of moonlight curved to the left. When the river slowed and grew wide, the road grew wide and slow as well. The moon did not hurry the boat, and she did not turn it about. She only walked beside it on the water, keeping it company, all the gentle way along.
A small wind came down off the sleeping hills, the kind of wind that is only out at night, the kind that goes about tucking the world in. It stirred the reeds at the river's edge, and the reeds bowed and whispered, *hush, hush, hush,* and were still. It touched the surface of the water, and the silver road shivered into a thousand soft lights and then smoothed itself calm again. And it brushed across Marlow's shell, light as a feather, and the little turtle, deep asleep, breathed out one long slow breath and settled deeper still.
The moon watched over all of it. She watched the reeds grow quiet. She watched the wind lie down. She watched the boat float on along her shining road, slow and safe and sure.
And one by one, the high stars began to close their small bright eyes. The busy stars, who had twinkled and sparkled all through the early night, grew soft, and softer, and let their light go gentle and low. The whole wide sky was settling now, the way a nursery settles when the last small lamp is dimmed.
Only the slow and sleepy star stayed lit, low over the valley, and the great round moon stayed lit, high in her place, the two of them keeping the night between them so that nothing below would ever be alone in the dark.
The river slowed. The boat drifted. The moonlight road lay smooth and shining beneath it.
And Marlow, who did not see the moon but somehow, in the quiet way of sleeping things, knew that she was there, slept on without a single worry in the world. He was carried, and he was kept, and he was companied through the dark by a kind and patient light. He did not have to find his own way home. The way home was carrying him already.
So the moon walked beside the little boat on her road of silver water, all through the soft and quiet night.
And the river drifted on.
And Marlow slept, warm and safe and never once alone, until the morning.
Goodnight, Marlow. Goodnight, little moon on the water. Goodnight.