Droply 
Once upon a time, a woman who longed for a child planted a single barleycorn in a flowerpot. It grew into a beautiful tulip, its red petals closed tight like a little fist. When she kissed the petals, they opened with a soft pop, and there, sitting in the middle of the flower, was a tiny girl, no bigger than a thumb.
The woman named her Thumbelina.
Thumbelina slept in a polished walnut shell, with violet petals for a mattress and a rose petal for a blanket. In the daytime, she rowed across a plate of water in a tulip-petal boat, using two white horsehairs as oars, and sang in a voice as sweet as a bell.
One warm night, as she slept in her walnut shell by the open window, a large toad hopped in. "What a lovely little girl," croaked the toad. "She would make a fine wife for my son." And she carried the walnut shell away to the marshy riverbank.
When Thumbelina woke up, she was sitting on a lily pad in the middle of a wide stream. The toad's son only said, "Croak, croak, brekke-ke-kex," which was all he knew how to say. Thumbelina did not want to live in the mud. She sat on her lily pad and cried quietly.
The little fish in the stream had heard everything. They gathered around the stem of the lily pad and nibbled it through, until the leaf floated free and drifted away down the river, carrying Thumbelina far from the marsh.
She floated past towns and meadows, and a pretty white butterfly fluttered down and landed beside her. Thumbelina tied one end of her sash to the butterfly and the other to the leaf, and the butterfly pulled her along like a little sail.
Summer passed in the green woods. Thumbelina wove herself a bed of grass under a large leaf, drank dew from the flowers each morning, and listened to the birds.
But then autumn came. The birds flew south. The flowers faded. The leaves fell. Then winter arrived, and snowflakes as big as blankets tumbled down on her.
Shivering, she walked to the edge of a field, where she found the little door of a field mouse's home. "Poor little thing," said the kind old field mouse. "Come in where it's warm. You may stay all winter, if you keep my rooms tidy and tell me stories."
So Thumbelina stayed, and she was warm, and she told many stories.
One day, in a tunnel beneath the field, she found a swallow lying very still, its wings folded, too cold to fly. Thumbelina's heart ached. She brought soft hay and a warm blanket of wool, and tucked it around the bird. She laid her head on its chest and felt a tiny heartbeat. The swallow was not gone; it had only been chilled by the frost.
All winter, Thumbelina secretly cared for the swallow, bringing it water in a petal cup. And little by little, it grew strong again.
When spring came and the sun warmed the earth, the swallow said, "You saved my life. Will you come with me to the warm lands, where it is always summer?"
Thumbelina thanked the field mouse for her kindness and said goodbye. Then she climbed onto the swallow's back, tied herself to its feathers, and up they flew, over forests and mountains and the shining sea.
At last they came to a place of blue lakes and blossoming trees, where white flowers grew as big as teacups. The swallow set Thumbelina down on one of the flowers. And there, in the middle of the next flower, sat a tiny young man, no bigger than she was, with delicate wings on his shoulders. He was the prince of the flower spirits, and in every blossom lived someone just like him.
"Welcome," he said with a smile. "You've come a long way."
The flower spirits gave Thumbelina a pair of gossamer wings, so that she could fly from flower to flower. She and the prince became the dearest of friends, and later they were married, with the swallow singing at their celebration.
And every year, when winter came to the north, the swallow flew back to tell the story of the tiny girl with the brave and gentle heart.
That night, Thumbelina curled up inside a soft white petal. The flower slowly closed around her, like a cozy little room, and the warm breeze rocked it gently back and forth.
Imagine you are tucked inside a flower, too. The petals fold softly around you. The breeze rocks you gently… back and forth… back and forth… into sleep.
Good night.
