Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Hi, This is Stefania over at Positive affirmations and audio
stories bringing you happy thoughts, inspiration, motivation and entertainment and
bedtime stories to start your day or to end your day.
We use the power of positive words to help you
live the positive, uplifting lifestyle that you deserve. Today's episode
(00:29):
is a fantasy sleep story. It's time to head off
to a peaceful, enjoyable sleep with a relaxing bedtime story.
(01:09):
The Lantern Garden Where the Stars Whisper written by well
Met Tonight, we wander into a garden most never find,
not unless the moon is full, not unless they carry
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silence in their breath, not unless stars whisper their name.
This time, Bondara's name is the one the stars called.
She arrives just as the garden gate clicks softly behind her.
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Ivy wrapped wood lanterns swaying the scent of earth and
distant memory. She's wrapped in a pale shawl, thin as mist,
and stitched with fading starts. She wonders a bit and
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stumbles upon a path. It's lined with sleeping stones and
petals that seem to glow. One in furls just as
her foot passes it's a moonflower, wide and white, his
edges kissed with silver lost above her, branches been low
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with clusters of angels trumpets. There, blossoms drift like lullabies, sweet,
strange and warm as forgotten songs. A breeze lifts the
paper lanterns ahead, blink gone, one by one, soft amber light,
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guiding her deeper into the beautiful and mysterious garden. Ndara follows.
She does not rush, She listens, and the garden hums.
A gravel path crunches beneath her shoes. Beneath the hedges,
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evening primroses blink open like quiet eyes. Meanwhile, by a
mossy bench, someone waits silently and patiently. It's the old gardener,
bent slightly, boots, muddled beard full of twigs and time,
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and a lantern dangles from his cane. The gardener speaks,
I was wondering when you return. Wandorra, surprised, tilts her head, curious.
She does not answer, not with words. Instead, she sits
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beside him, and the bench sighs beneath them. The gardener
gently explains this is a place for the unset, for
the things that don't need language, only light. They sit.
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Crickets carry on like tiny storytellers, and somewhere a four
o'clock flower bursts into bloom. It's scent like distant summer.
Wandorra reaches into her pocket and takes out a match.
The gardener notts. She lights the lantern between them. Flame
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flutters glows golden and above. The fireflies gather, as if
summoned by the light. They blink and hover, drawn to
the story. In the hush, the stars sing in a soft, musical,
whispering chorus. Some hearts speak best in glow. Some memories
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only return by lantern light. The gardener smiles faintly. Do
you remember the night flukes? It blooms when no one's watching,
smells like dreams you forgot your head, wonder ants. It
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smells like my mother coming to herself. Down the path,
more lanterns shimmer, The glow deepens with each breath, and
the gardener rises. He taps his cane gently on the stones,
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and the garden listens. Come on, child, he says, The
garden wants to show you something. So they walk past
low walls and pristy vines, past pools of water, black
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a zink where fireflies spell something in light, but not
in any language. One durnos at the garden's heart is
a round clearing, surrounded by blooms, wom flowers, evening primroses,
four o'clocks, angels, trumpets, and a hidden cushion of night flocks.
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But in the center is one tall lantern. It's lightest, steady,
like a held breath. The gardener explains in a hushed voice,
all the stories we couldn't carry you leave them here.
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Wander asks, will some one find them? The gardener gently replies,
they're not lost, just planted. Some come back as flowers,
some as dreams. Wandara nails. The fireflies surround her, one
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hands on her hand. It glows, then, like a sweet memory,
it fades. She whispers, not with her lips, but her heart,
something she was afraid to say aloud. The flame in
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the tall lantern flutters. The stars gently cry she's listening now.
The garden breathes. The gardener sets down his lantern and
it joins the others. Its glow flickers once, then steadies.
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Jan Dora stands. She's lighter somehow, or or maybe it's
just the hush wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl.
The fireflies begin to rise, as if pulled upward by
the hush itself. They form a spiral above the clearing,
a constellation in slow ocean. Mon Dora watches this until
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the lanterns are the only things glowing. She turns to
the gardener, but he is gone. Only his cane remains
propped gently against the bench, and she does not panic.
She simply walks the path again, through the blooms, through
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the hush, through the sore, spoken dark. When she reaches
the gate, she looks back once. The garden flickers and
then folds itself into quiet, and she steps once again
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alone into the moonlight, glowing just slightly from within. And
if you smell some moonflowers in your sweet dreams tonight,
maybe it's your turn to enter the garden. And that's
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it for today. Feel free to share this podcast with
your family, with your fans, with everybody. And if you
need a little more inspiration in between podcast episodes, please
feel free to visit our coffee page. You can find
the website address in the show notes, and over there
you can find some more motivation inspiration, and if you
(11:23):
like to do a bit of colarving, we're going to
be uploading a few coloring pages inspired by this story,
so you can go over there, download them in high
definition and have a go. So if you like, you
(11:45):
can buy us some coffee wire over there please, or
just have a look around, enjoy and get inspired. And
that's it for today. Do have a good night, have
a peaceful, RESTful sleep, be happy and by for now.