One night, the moon got tired of being so far away. So she climbed down from the sky using a ladder made of stars and knocked on my window.
"Can I come in?" she asked. Her voice sounded like wind chimes.
"Sure," I said, because what else do you say to the moon?
She was smaller than I thought — about the size of a beach ball — and she glowed so bright that my whole room turned silver. Lulu woke up and wagged her tail because she thought it was already morning.
The moon sat on my bed and told me she was lonely up there. "The stars are nice," she said, "but they only twinkle. They never talk."
So I showed her my drawings. She really liked the one of the rainbow world. "I can see that place from up there," she whispered. "It looks even better in your drawing."
We stayed up late talking about clouds (she walks on them sometimes), about the sun (they are friends but never hang out because of their schedules), and about why the sky is dark at night ("So people can see me better," she said proudly).
When she had to go back, she left a little piece of moonlight on my pillow. It looked like a tiny silver pebble. I still have it. It glows when I can't sleep.
"Come visit again," I said.
"Every full moon," she promised. "Just look up and wave."
And I always do.