Hang Up the Sleepy Backpack
At the School Gate, the last of the afternoon sun lay on the chalk drawings. Rosy held her little sister Wren's hand. Every backpack hung on its hook, except one purple one, which sat on the pavement and yawned a long, wobbly yawn.
"It's sleepy," said Rosy. Wren patted its soft velvet top. The backpack's zipper pull drooped like an eyelid. "It needs a hook to hang on, so it can dream," Rosy decided. "But which hook?"
Something rustled in the bushes by the brick wall. Out waddled the Hedgehog, with a twig in his paws like a tiny pointer. "Every sleepy backpack has its own dreaming hook," he said. "Follow me, and walk softly."
Rosy lifted the backpack onto her shoulders. It was warm and heavy, like a cat. Wren held the hem of Rosy's shirt. The Hedgehog stopped at a fork in the path and tapped his twig twice.
"One path goes to the round cloakroom," he said. "One climbs the meadow hill." The backpack gave a tiny snore against Rosy's back. She looked at both paths, and her toes tingled.
Rosy chose the meadow hill. The grass was cool, and silver dandelions glowed like tiny lamps. Wren puffed one, and the seeds floated up like sleepy stars. The Hedgehog led them to an old crooked apple tree.
One low branch curved like a crescent. The Hedgehog nodded. Rosy lifted the Sleepy Backpack, and the moon on its front matched the branch exactly. It swung gently, then sighed.
The backpack hung there, swaying, but its zipper pull still twitched. It was not yet dreaming. Something small and restless was keeping it awake. Wren tugged Rosy's sleeve and pointed at the backpack's front pocket.
Rosy unzipped the pocket. Inside lay a Blueberry Pouch, a little cold and a little crumpled. "Oh!" she said. "I forgot my snack." The backpack wiggled its straps as if embarrassed.
She shared the blueberries. One for Wren, who squished it happily. One for the Hedgehog, who sniffed it first. One for herself, round and sweet. A hush settled around them like a blanket.
Wren yawned, and then the Hedgehog yawned, and then Rosy did too. The Sleepy Backpack opened one stitch of its moon, like a half-shut eye. It was nearly ready to dream, but it needed a last little thing.
Rosy knew what it was. She stood in front of the swaying backpack, with the last blueberries in her palm and her sister leaning against her knee.
Rosy tucked the Blueberry Pouch into the backpack's pocket, one berry peeking out, like a tiny blue pillow. She pulled the zipper shut slowly. The backpack gave a snore as soft as a kitten.
The moon on the backpack closed, and a dream the color of blueberries drifted up from the zipper. The Hedgehog tipped his twig like a hat. Wren giggled quietly, then yawned so wide her eyes disappeared.
Rosy picked up Wren, who was already nearly asleep, and Wren patted Rosy's cheek twice. Rosy kissed the top of her sister's head, and they stood there under the quiet tree.
