The Moon and the Little Stars

High above the sleeping town, the Moon rose slowly over the hills. She was round and silver tonight, and her soft light painted the rooftops white.

All around her, the stars were waking up one by one. The big bright ones blinked first, then the middle-sized ones, and last of all came the littlest star of all, a tiny star called Pip.

Pip looked at the big stars and sighed. “They are so bright,” she said. “Children point at them and make wishes. Nobody can even see me. What is the point of a star as small as me?”

The Moon heard Pip and floated a little closer. “Look down there,” she said kindly. “Do you see the little boat on the dark sea?”

Pip looked. Far below, a fisherman was rowing home. He looked up, found a small group of stars, and turned his boat towards the harbour. “He uses us to find his way,” said the Moon. “And you, Pip, are the star at the very tip of that group. Without you, the shape would not be complete.”

Pip twinkled with surprise. Then she noticed a little girl at a window, looking up with sleepy eyes. The girl was counting stars: “…seven, eight, nine — and the tiny one makes ten!” She smiled and closed her curtains.

“You see?” said the Moon. “The sky needs big stars and little stars. Each one shines in its own way, and each one matters.”

Pip glowed her very brightest, which was still quite small — and that was just right. All night long she twinkled happily, until the Sun came up and it was time for every star, big and small, to rest.