Example stories · Space · Ages 5 to 7

Ellery and the Star That Wouldn't Sit Still

A read-aloud bedtime story, about 3 minutes.

Ellery the raccoon had a plan. Tonight, she was going to catch a star.

She had a jam jar, a butterfly net, and a very determined look on her face. "Stars are just like fireflies," she told her little brother, Bibs. "Just bigger. And farther away. And made of fire."

Bibs, who was three and mostly interested in acorns, said, "Okay."

Ellery climbed to the top of Pinecone Hill, the tallest hill in the whole forest, and waited for the sky to turn purple and then black. When the first star popped out, twinkling like a bit of spilled glitter, Ellery swung her net.

She missed.

She swung again. She missed again. She climbed onto a rock and jumped, net stretched high, and only caught a moth, who was very unimpressed.

"Excuse you," said the moth, and flew off in a huff.

Ellery flopped down on the grass, out of breath. "Stars are trickier than fireflies," she admitted.

A soft voice chuckled above her. Ellery looked up. One star, brighter than the rest, seemed to be looking right back down at her.

"You cannot catch a star," the star said kindly, "because a star is not something you hold. A star is something you follow."

"Follow where?" asked Ellery.

"Nowhere in particular," said the star. "That is the nice part."

Ellery frowned. She did not love plans with no particular place to go. She liked jars with lids. She liked knowing exactly where things were.

But the star just twinkled, patient as ever, so Ellery lay back on the cool grass and looked up instead of reaching up. And that was when she noticed something she had missed while swinging her net.

There were hundreds of stars. Thousands. More than any jar, however big, could ever hold. They spread across the sky like sugar spilled on dark velvet, and every single one twinkled in its own little rhythm, like a hundred thousand tiny lanterns saying goodnight.

"Oh," said Ellery quietly.

Bibs climbed up beside her, an acorn in each paw, and flopped down too. "Pretty," he said, pointing at the sky with an acorn.

"Pretty," Ellery agreed.

She set her net down in the grass. She did not need to catch anything after all. The stars were not going anywhere. They would be there tomorrow night, and the night after that, glimmering over Pinecone Hill whether or not anyone tried to net them.

The bright star hummed a little tune, soft as wind through pine needles, and slowly the other stars seemed to join in, each one blinking along in its own gentle time.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" Ellery asked, already half asleep.

"I will always be somewhere you can find me," said the star. "That is what stars are for."

Ellery smiled and tucked her jam jar under one arm, empty and unbothered, and gathered Bibs close beside her. Down the hill, through the quiet trees, all the way home they went, with the whole glittering sky following along overhead like an old, patient friend.

That night, Ellery did not dream of jars or nets. She dreamed of soft light and slow, twinkling songs, and when she woke the next morning, she left the jar on her windowsill, lid off, just in case a little starlight ever wanted to visit.

But for now, wrapped in her blanket with Bibs snoring softly beside her, Ellery closed her eyes, warm and glad, and drifted off to sleep beneath a sky full of stars she no longer needed to catch.