A Bedtime Story
1. The Whispering Feathers
One evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, a special contest was announced in the little town of Featherwick. But this was no ordinary race—no running, no jumping, no rushing about.
It was the Floating Feather Race.
The challenge? Keep a feather floating in the air for as long as possible—without touching it! The only thing the racers could use was their breath.
Jonathan, Christopher, and Daniel each picked a feather from the soft pile at the starting line. Some feathers were white like snow, some golden like sunshine, and some shimmered with a hint of blue, like the evening sky.
A wise old owl, the race’s referee, fluffed up his own feathers and hooted:
“A feather floats, so soft, so light,
Lift it gently, keep it in flight.
A breath so slow, a breeze so small,
Let the feather never fall.”
The race was about to begin…
2. The First Puff
Jonathan took a deep breath and blew gently. His feather wobbled, then lifted, drifting lazily upward.
Christopher let out a tiny puff of air—his feather bobbed in place, floating just above his hands.
Daniel, the eldest, tried a strong gust. But whoosh! His feather shot straight up, twirled, and tumbled to the ground. The owl chuckled.
“Not too strong and not too fast,
Feathers need a breath that lasts.
Gentle, steady, soft and slow,
This is how the feathers go.”
So Daniel tried again, this time blowing softly, watching as his feather danced in the air, twirling like a leaf in the wind.
3. The Rising Breeze
The race grew more exciting as the feathers floated higher. Some drifted like tiny clouds, others spun slowly, twinkling in the golden evening light.
A small breeze arrived, lifting the feathers even further. But the owl reminded them:
“Breathe with care, feel the air,
Let the feather float up there.
Not too high and not too low,
Just a gentle breath to go.”
Jonathan and Christopher giggled as their feathers hovered above their heads. Daniel, now focused, kept his feather perfectly balanced in the air.
4. The Final Drift
As the last rays of sunlight touched the treetops, the owl called out:
“One more breath, light as air,
Drift your feather here and there.
Slow and soft, let it be,
Floating high so gracefully.”
The children gave their feathers one last, soft puff… and watched them drift, slowly, softly, gently down—landing without a sound.
The race had no losers—only quiet champions of the wind.
“Beautiful!” hooted the owl. “You’ve learned the secret of the Floating Feather Race—patience, breath, and calm.”
The children smiled, feeling peaceful and warm. The air still carried the soft dance of their feathers, and they knew…
Tonight, they would sleep as gently as their floating feathers.
Verbal Alchemy 