Oona the Little Bat and Her Goodnight Friend

High in the attic of an old stone barn, a little bat named Oona hung upside down from a wooden beam.

She was very small, no bigger than a plum. She had velvety brown fur, ears shaped like two soft leaves, and wings that folded around her like a cozy cloak. All day long, while the sun shone outside, Oona slept with her family, swaying gently in the warm, quiet dark.

But Oona was not like the other little bats. Every day, just as she was falling asleep, she wondered about something.

"Mama," she whispered one morning, as the first sunbeam crept under the barn door, "what happens in the daytime?"

Her mother opened one sleepy eye. "Lots of things," she yawned. "Birds sing. Flowers open. Squirrels run up and down the trees. But daytime is for daytime animals. We are night animals. Now close your eyes, little one."

Oona closed her eyes. But she kept wondering.

That evening, when the sun began to set and the sky turned orange and pink, Oona woke up before anyone else. She crawled to the little gap under the roof and peeked out.

Outside, the world was golden. The fields glowed. The old oak tree beside the barn cast a long shadow across the grass. And there, on a branch of the oak, sat a squirrel.

She had a bushy red tail that curled up behind her like a question mark. She was nibbling on a hazelnut and yawning a big, wide yawn.

"Hello!" squeaked Oona.

The squirrel jumped so high she nearly dropped her nut. She looked around. "Who said that?"

"Me! Up here!" Oona waved one wing.

The squirrel looked up and blinked. "Oh my! A bat! I've never seen a bat before. I'm Hazel. What are you doing awake? It's nearly bedtime."

"Bedtime?" said Oona, surprised. "It's nearly wake-up time!"

They stared at each other. Then they both started to giggle.

"You sleep in the day?" asked Hazel.

"And you sleep at night?" asked Oona.

Hazel nodded. "When the sun goes down, I curl up in my nest in the oak tree. I tuck my tail over my nose like a blanket. And I sleep until the morning birds start singing."

"That sounds lovely," said Oona. "I sleep upside down in the barn, all wrapped up in my wings. And when the sun goes down, I fly out to catch moths and see the moon."

Hazel's eyes went round. "The moon? I've never really seen the moon. I'm always asleep before it rises."

"And I've never seen a sunflower open," said Oona. "Or a rainbow. Or a butterfly. I'm always asleep when they come out."

They both thought about this for a moment.

"Tell me about the moon," said Hazel, settling down on her branch.

So Oona told her. She told her how the moon was round and silver, like a big shiny coin. How it made the river sparkle. How the stars came out one by one, until the whole sky was sprinkled with tiny lights. How the night air smelled of cool grass and honeysuckle. And how the owls called to each other, "Hoo, hoo," from far across the fields.

Hazel listened with her chin in her paws. "It sounds magical," she sighed.

"Now you tell me about the day," said Oona.

So Hazel told her. She told her about the morning sun, warm and yellow on your fur. About the bees buzzing in the clover. About the butterflies with wings like painted glass. About the children who came to play in the field and sometimes left crumbs of bread. And about the way the dew sparkled on every blade of grass, like a million tiny diamonds.

Oona's ears trembled with delight. "It sounds wonderful," she whispered.

By now, the sun had nearly gone. The sky was turning a deep, soft purple. Hazel gave another big yawn. Oona's wings were tingling. She was ready to fly.

"I wish we could play together," said Hazel sadly. "But when you're awake, I'm asleep. And when I'm awake, you're asleep."

Oona thought hard. Then her little face brightened.

"But there is one time when we are both awake," she said. "Right now! The in-between time. When the sun is going down. And in the morning too, when the sun is coming up, just before I go to sleep and just after you wake up."

Hazel's tail twitched with excitement. "The in-between time! We could meet here, on this branch, every evening and every morning!"

"And you can tell me about the day," said Oona.

"And you can tell me about the night," said Hazel.

So that is what they did.

Every evening, as the sky turned pink, Oona woke a little early and Hazel stayed up a little late. They met on the oak branch and shared their stories. Then Hazel would say, "Good night, Oona," and Oona would say, "Good morning, Hazel," and they would both laugh, because it sounded so funny.

Then Hazel would curl up in her nest, with her bushy tail tucked over her nose. And Oona would spread her wings and fly off into the starry sky.

And every morning, as the sky turned pale gold, Oona flew home tired and happy. Hazel would be waiting on the branch, stretching and blinking in the first light.

"Did you see the moon?" Hazel would ask.

"It was as round as a plate," Oona would say. "And I saved you a story about a firefly."

Then Oona would say, "Good night, Hazel," and Hazel would say, "Good morning, Oona." And Oona would fly up into the warm dark attic, hang upside down from her beam, and wrap her wings around herself.

Her mother would open one sleepy eye. "Where have you been, little one?"

"Talking to my friend," Oona would whisper. "She's a day animal. And I'm a night animal. But we share the in-between."

Then she would close her eyes and fall asleep, dreaming of sunflowers and butterflies and dewdrops sparkling like diamonds.

And outside, in the old oak tree, a little red squirrel would be thinking about the moon.