Someone’s good in telling me a good night story? Then please, you’re welcome.
In the old days, there was no night, only perpetual day. The sun beamed down and poured through every window all the time. People worked and played and loved and died at all hours of the day, for in those days with no night no one slept. And all the people thought they were happy and content but they were not.
One day an old woman arrived in town and took a room at the local inn. She was not an old crone, she had the elegance of a lady who had seen much and let it somehow add an afterglow of experience and wisdom. She was a formidable and intimidating sight to behold.
She entered her room, placed her bag on the chair and began drawing the shutters closed. Then she pulled a roll of soft fabric out of her bags and spread it across the floor. Since no one slept, there were no beds.
Her work satisfactory, she stretched herself out on the floor and closed her eyes and was asleep.
Hours later the innkeeper found her and thought she was dead. Alarmed at the sight he ran out and called for a doctor.
People crowded into the room, being curious and concerned and as the doctor checked her she stirred and everyone leapt back in surprise.
All asked what had happened. She replied, I went to sleep. Puzzled they looked at each other and seeing their confusion she added that she was wandering the land of dreams.
Surely there is no such place, these are the only lands, said the Baker,
Too right, just this place no other, confirmed the Butcher.
You are quite wrong, all of you, there are many lands and worlds beyond these and in them wonders and joys and frights beyond here.
But they could not understand for with no night they had no sleep and with no sleep they had no way to dream and without dreams they could not imagine.
She stood up and in a commanding voice proclaimed, each of you go to your house, draw the shutters, keep out as much sun as possible and stretch out on the floor. Then you will understand what I am saying.
In a strange way they all obeyed, each going to their homes and doing as told.
And for the first time the whole town fell asleep.
With the people asleep the sun grew bored and decided to wander and in another first there was night, pure black and dark with no moon and only the starlight, for at that time there was no moon, but that is another story.
Hours later the sun returned to check on the townspeople and in so doing awoke them all.
All of them came back from the land of dreams with different tales from different lands.
It was then that the first artists were born. The poets wrote of the lands they saw, painters captured images, and storytellers captured the tales in written word, recording all that had been dreamed and seen in those strange lands. People began to imagine things, to dream for better lives and better stations, to want for more and seek the things they could imagine. The people were forever changed.
The sun too had enjoyed its journey while the people slept and decided to make it a lasting routine, wandering the vast seas of stars to untold adventures each time the people slept.
They all gathered to thank the old woman for showing them that their lives could have meaning, that they could rest and sleep and dream and imagine – that there are wild lands and worlds to walk in dreams, but she was gone.
And it was that the night was born and with it came a new world remade.