The Little Sleepy Line
When the sky goes dark and the stars come out, a small green train sets off through the quiet countryside. Its name is the Sleepy Line, and it has just one job: to carry tired travellers gently home to bed.
Chuff-chuff… chuff-chuff… The little train rolls out of the station, slow and steady, its warm yellow windows glowing in the dark.
At the first stop — Meadow Halt — a family of rabbits climbs aboard, yawning wide, their ears drooping low. The little train waits patiently until every last one is settled on a soft seat. Then, chuff-chuff… chuff-chuff… off it rolls again, a little slower than before.
At the next stop — Riverside — a sleepy family of ducks waddles on, feathers ruffled, eyes half closed. They tuck their heads beneath their wings before the train has even started moving. Chuff… chuff… off it goes again, slower still.
At Hollow Oak, a drowsy squirrel curls up in the corner of a carriage. At Foggy Field, a woolly lamb settles down with a soft, sleepy baa. And with each new passenger, the little train slows down, and down, and down — because the closer it gets to the end of the line, the sleepier everyone becomes.
Chuff……… chuff……… The wheels turn slow and heavy now. The engine hums a low, warm, rumbly song. Outside, the dark fields slide gently by, and the stars keep watch overhead.
One by one, the passengers drift off to sleep, rocked by the gentle sway of the train — the rabbits, the ducks, the squirrel, the little lamb, all softly snoring.
At last the Sleepy Line reaches the final stop, the quietest station of all, where the platform is soft and the lamps are dim. But nobody needs waking. They are already deep asleep, right where they should be.
And the little green train, its work all done, lets out one last, long, contented sigh of steam — chuff… — and rests its wheels until tomorrow night.