In spring, a dandelion opened in the meadow.
It was bright yellow.
The sun made it shine.
It stayed open for many days.
At night it closed, like a small fist.
In the morning it opened again.
Then it turned into a little white ball.
It was soft.
It looked like a small ball of cotton.
One small seed sat on every thread.
They sat close together.
They were very quiet.
Then one day the wind came.
It blew very gently.
The little seeds flew up.
Some flew east.
Some flew west.
One tiny seed flew up too.
He was the smallest of them all.
He looked back once at the white ball.
Then he was ready.
He flew over the tall grass.
He flew over a low stone.
He flew over a sleeping sheep.
He flew over a shining river.
He flew over a curved bridge.
He flew over a village.
Smoke rose from the roofs.
It smelled like supper.
The wind carried him.
Up a little.
Down a little.
He was not afraid.
He felt like he was flying.
Fly and fly.
Fly and fly.
Then the wind grew soft.
He floated down.
He landed on a warm patch of soil.
The sun was good here.
The soil was soft here.
In China, children like to pick a dandelion.
They blow on it once.
They watch the little umbrellas fill the sky.
The little seed lay on the soil.
He was a little tired.
He pushed down into the earth.
The earth was warm.
It was like a blanket.
He wrapped himself up.
He closed his eyes.
He was going to take a long sleep.
A whole winter long.
Above him, the grass turned yellow.
The sky turned cold.
Then the snow came.
It lay on the meadow, thick and white.
It lay on the sleeping sheep too.
The frost made small flowers on the window.
But under the ground it stayed warm.
It was quiet down there.
It was dark and kind.
Nobody came to bother him.
So he slept.
He slept all winter.
He even had a dream.
He dreamed he opened into a yellow flower.
He dreamed the wind came to visit.
He dreamed he was a little white ball again.
Then spring would come again.
The rain would tap on him.
The sun would call him.
He would stretch.
He would push out of the ground.
He would become a new dandelion.
Bright yellow.
The bees would come to say hello.
And the wind would make him a little white ball.
But not now.
Now he wanted to sleep.
The wind slept too.
The wind slept on the other side of the hill.
The rain slept too.
The rain slept inside the clouds.
The grass slept.
The stone slept.
The sheep slept.
The river slept.
They were all waiting for spring.
When spring comes, they will come to see him.
They will see him open one yellow flower.
Nobody has to wake anybody now.
A few stars came out.
They looked down at the field.
Under the field, one small seed slept.
The moon came up.
The moonlight lay on the snow.
The snow shone.
Under the ground, it was still warm.
The winter was long.
But the seed did not mind.
He liked his little blanket.
He liked his little dark room.
It was his own place.
It was quiet and kind.
In the spring, the bees would come.
The butterflies would come.
The children would run outside.
They would find a yellow flower.
They would say: look, a dandelion.
Then they would blow on it.
And the little umbrellas would fly again.
A new seed would ride the wind.
It would find its own warm patch.
It would sleep its own long sleep.
That is how it always goes.
The stars moved slowly.
The moon moved slowly.
The snow lay still.
The whole meadow slept.
Everything was waiting.
Everything was patient.
Spring was not far away.
Under the snow, under the soil, the seed slept.
He slept the way seeds sleep.
Deep and slow.
Full of quiet.
Full of spring.
Nothing hurried him.
Nothing hurried the world.
It was all right.
It was all warm.
The seed slept on and on.
The earth kept him warm.
That is the old story of the dandelion seed.
It is a gentle Chinese folktale.
It is also a Chinese fairy tale, and one of the oldest Chinese bedtime stories for children.
Now it is time to close your eyes.
Good night, little seed.
Good night, soft warm earth.
This is a very old Chinese bedtime story. It is not long, and it is very gentle. Best read slowly, with the lights low.
