Bed time story

Posted by Claudia Moser on 7:06 AM in , , ,
The mother told the child with a very mild tone to go to bed. The little girl did not want to, she was too excited after seeing the snow falling down and all she was thinking about was to go out and play. But it was already rather late and the mother was determined. Thus the only remaining alternative was to ask for a bed time story.

The mother pondered, went to the kitchen and came with both hands closed, the child was curious, but the mother told her to close her eyes, and to stretch out her left arm. She felt something wooden. Then the left arm, she got a little softer piece.

And then the story began ...

Imagine it is late afternoon and you are walking towards the old castle where the Christmas market is placed each year. The snow fell all around you and it is crispy and cold, but you warm with your nice new pullover all around your neck and hot hands in the winter gloves. You walk around the little market, with each stand having amazing wonderful things to discover. The first thing you discover is the cookie stand where a lady is handing over some samples.

And then the mother told the her to smell what she has in her left hand. And the girl was surrounded by cinnamon and she could imagine how her favourite cookies smell and taste.

The story went on.

The next stop is the toy stand with lovely carved wooden puppets and small cars which Thomas (her cousin) loved and cheerish. Then the steam startled her, the old train was coming just around the corner with rosy cheeks little children which were laughing and enjoying the crispy afternoon. So many things to see, here some thick wool socks like the granny knits all winter long, here some jewelry for young girls and then again something to eat.

After a small tour a small stop to have a children punch.

And then the mother told the her to smell what she has in her right hand. And the girl was surrounded by tangerine and she could imagine how her favourite winter drink would smell and taste.

The story went on.

The snow started to fall down with huge flakes, the evening was coming down and one by one the children return to their homes. Another look towards the market with its beautiful lights and smells and stands and it is time to go.

The mother stopped and smiled, the girl was all curled up and sleeping. She took the  tangerine skin from her right hand and the cinnamon stick from her left. With a last look she tucked her baby and wished her good night. 



What a lovely story; I miss my daughter being wee and begging for just one more story.

What a lovely story! Have a great day!

What a lovely story. I loved how the mother added the senses to the telling.


Beautifully written - so much imagery!

I love bedtime stories and this was just wonderful!

Loved this story, Claudia! Beautifully written. You would be very good at bedtime stories!

How lovely! Good job, Miss!

Anonymous says:

A perfect holiday moment.

very sweet...

Now that's a story that would take some planning.


@Jacqueline - I must confess, I was thinking of me being small and granny reading me stories :)
@Eileen - happy you enjoyed it
@Kathy - I was inspired by an aromatherapy seminar which I had last week
@Leander - thank you!
@Anne - I also love bedtime stories, especially in the winter
@Diane - maybe, who knows?
@Jo - you are kind, as always
@Kelly- that istrue
@Tamara :)
@Joyce - why that?

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Thank you for your comments, I appreciate them all!


"A story is not like a road to follow … it's more like a house. You go inside and stay there for a while, wandering back and forth and settling where you like and discovering how the room and corridors relate to each other, how the world outside is altered by being viewed from these windows. And you, the visitor, the reader, are altered as well by being in this enclosed space, whether it is ample and easy or full of crooked turns, or sparsely or opulently furnished. You can go back again and again, and the house, the story, always contains more than you saw the last time. It also has a sturdy sense of itself of being built out of its own necessity, not just to shelter or beguile you."
by Alice Munro

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