She chased after him down the hallways. His giggled echoed in the emptiness of night. He was supposed to be in bed hours ago, but she had lost herself in her painting and he had lost himself in his toys spread across the living room floor.

“You little bugger,” she playfully grumbled as he either dived into his room or his wobbling legs had sent him sprawling forward, “Get yourself into that bed.”

His giggles were infectious and she couldn’t help but laugh as she slowly stalked down the hallway, “Fee. Fie. Foe. Fum…”

A shrill giggle of expectation came first before she entered his room and he scrambled up off the floor and dived into his bed.

“I’m in bed, mommy,” he said, “that means I’m safe.”

She pretended to be disappointed and crossed her arms, “I guess so. Lucky. I was really hungry for some tickles.”

His eyes widened and his lips mouthed silently, “Oh no.”

She stood there for a moment before a corner of her mouth slowly rose and he gasped and quickly ducked under the covers. She leapt onto the bed and howled, “I want those tickles anyway!”

She laughed while he squealed as she tickled him until he called out, “Okay, I’m tired, mommy!”

She stopped, “You are? Well, we better get you to bed.”

She got off the bed and fiddled with the blankets as he snuggled himself underneath them. His round eyes looked up at her and she melted into a smile.

“Bedtime story, mommy?”

She couldn’t say no. She wouldn’t. Like her paintings, these stories fuelled her imagination and each night as the words drifted out of her lips and into his ears, she could watch his eyes grow heavy until his imagination would take over. She always wondered what he dreamt about.

She climbed into the bed and lay above the covers besides him. She kissed the top of his head, “Alright, my love, you ready?”

He nodded and wiggled himself deeper into his pillow and she closed her eyes and like the colours in her palette, her words began to paint his dreams, “Why can’t the sky stay its blue even when the day is through,
and why can’t the moon keep its light when the stars come out at night?”

“Why, mommy?”

“The answer lie like most answers do, beyond the light and above the blue,
where fields of countryside abide, where hills and grass peacefully hide.”

He sighed and her eyes opened to check in on him, but his eyes were already closed and she could tell by the look on his face that he was listening and trying to imagine such a place. She smiled a soft smile and brushed his cheek with her lips and continued, “There rests a back porch where a lullaby sings, a simple song an old woman brings.”

She watched as a smile spread across his face and she nodded softly, thanking the old woman silently as she rested her head against his pillow, closed her eyes and continued, “Every day before the sun slipped down to sleep, white fluffy clouds, blue skies it sweeps. At her house there is nothing ever wrong, for the sun slept easy thanks to her song. The sun knew she’d wake again when she heard that old woman’s lullaby and rise above the horizon, her rays would happily sigh.”

“But, mommy, who is the old woman?” his voice snapped her out of her tale.

She giggled softly, not opening her eyes, “You know who it is, my love.”

“Milly?”

“Yep.”

He grew quiet so she knew she could continue, “The sun would see Milly sitting in her lovely wooden chair, the soft winds dance throughout her hair. The trees rustled down to join in her nap, the hills lay hidden in shadow’s lap.”

Her tone began to deepen as she continued, “The grass lay quietly against the ground, while Milly’s magical song spread around.”

She hummed a bit as he suddenly turned to her in bed and his small arm wrapped around her and squeezed. At first Milly’s song began as a whisper until it filled his room,

‘Tonight has come and so will Moon; the stars will shine upon the loon.
Shadows make for all the hill’s beds and all the flowers close their heads.
So hello, Moon, and goodbye Sun, for this is how the night has begun.”

He sighed happily and whispered, “Milly…”

There was a moment’s silence where she wondered if Milly’s song had already worked and just as she was about to slip out of bed, his voice quietly rose from his lips, “Will the night stay forever, mommy?”

“Oh, no, my love,” she whispered and relaxed again. Tonight was a night she’d have to stay to the end. “Milly would never let the darkness stay.”

She stroked his back and continued, “The answers continues like all answers do, beyond the light and above the blue, where fields of countryside abide, where hills and grass peacefully hide.”

He faintly whispered something but she didn’t hear it. Sleep was beginning to take over him. She continued more for herself than him, “Resting on that porch where a lullaby sings, a simple song Milly always brings. Every night before the moon slipped down to sleep, twinkling stars, black skies it sweeps. At Milly’s house there is nothing ever wrong, for the moon slept easy thanks to her song. The Moon knew she’d wake again when she heard Milly’s lullaby, rise above the horizon, her beams sigh. She’d see her sitting in her lovely wooden chair, the cool winds dance throughout her hair. The trees, holding birds, singing wake, the hills fill with colour, the grass would shake. Everything would wake on Hidden Hills ground, while Milly’s magical song spread around:

‘Today has come and so will Sun; the birds will sing for everyone.
Here comes the blue; here comes the green and all the colours the world has seen.
So goodbye, Moon, and hello Sun, for this is how the day has begun.’

So, why can’t the sky stay its blue even when the day is through,
and why can’t the moon keep its light when the stars come out at night?
It’s because everything needs a rest sometimes, it’s allowed, even for the lovely Ms. Milly Cloud.”

She slid herself carefully out of his bed and fixed the blankets before kissing him on the forehead and switching off the bedside lamp. The light from the hallway guided her back to the door where she stopped and looked at the picture hanging on the wall beside the door frame.

A young girl was holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. She remembered how frightened she felt holding her son but like the picture showed, an old woman had an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes twinkled and between two wrinkles, she held a proud smile.

“Milly,” she whispered and touched the photo before disappearing out into the hallway.

And so this is how the story goes, for how much longer nobody knows,
Milly would step out of her house with song, in Hidden Hills nothing ever went wrong. She’d wait there on the porch where her lovely wooden chair sat, knowing her daughter and grandson knew where she was at. She’d sing her song until each one would come, her beloved moon and her gorgeous sun. And when they both slept the blue would come and so would green and all the colours the world has seen.