Sparky was a very small dragon, even for a baby dragon. He had scales the color of emeralds, a tiny puff of smoke that came out when he giggled, and a big problem: he couldn’t sleep! Every night, when the moon peeked over the Misty Mountains, all the other little dragons would snuggle into their caves and drift off to dreamland. But not Sparky. He’d wiggle and jiggle, flap his little wings, and try to count sheep… or, well, fluffy cloud-sheep, which were much more common in his part of the world.
“I just can’t get sleepy!” he’d whine to his mama. Mama Dragon would try everything. She’d sing him lullabies about shimmering caves and sparkling rivers. She’d read him stories about brave knights (who were always very polite, of course) and friendly giants. She’d even try to tickle him with her tail, but nothing worked. Sparky would just bounce and zoom around his cave, full of energy.
One night, Old Man Tiber, the wisest dragon in the Misty Mountains, came to visit. He’d heard about Sparky’s sleeplessness. Old Man Tiber didn’t sing or read or tickle. He simply sat beside Sparky and said, “Little one, sometimes, the best thing to do when you can’t sleep is to simply *be*. Be with your breath. Be with the quiet.”
Sparky tilted his head. “Be with my breath? What does that even mean?” Old Man Tiber chuckled, a sound like rumbling stones. “Close your eyes, Sparky. And feel the air coming in… and going out. Don’t try to change it. Just notice it.”
Sparky closed his eyes. At first, it was hard. His mind raced with thoughts of flying and playing and collecting shiny pebbles. But Old Man Tiber gently reminded him, “When a thought comes, just let it float by, like a cloud. Don’t chase it. Just breathe.”
Slowly, Sparky began to focus on his breath. He noticed how cool the air felt as it entered his nostrils, and how warm it felt as it left. He noticed the gentle rise and fall of his tummy. He realized that even though his wings still wanted to flap, he could still be calm. He didn't need to *do* anything to fall asleep; he just needed to *allow* himself to rest.
He imagined his breath as a gentle wave, washing over his scales, smoothing out any wiggles or jiggles. He pictured the quiet of the cave, the soft glow of the moon, and the peaceful snores of the other little dragons. He accepted that sometimes, it takes time to feel sleepy, and that was okay.
After a while, Sparky realized his wings weren’t flapping anymore. His tummy felt relaxed. His mind was quiet. He was still awake, but he wasn’t *fighting* being awake. He was simply… being. And then, without even realizing it, he drifted off to sleep. He dreamed of fluffy cloud-sheep and shimmering caves, and a very wise old dragon who taught him the magic of quiet.
Mama Dragon smiled when she saw Sparky sleeping peacefully. Old Man Tiber winked. From that night on, whenever Sparky felt restless, he remembered Old Man Tiber’s words. He would close his eyes, breathe deeply, and simply *be*. And soon, sleep would come, gentle and sweet, like a puff of smoke on a starry night.