Pravljica za lahko noč

Mira was six years old. Every night before bed, she looked out her window. She counted the lights in the town below. One evening, she saw something new. Tiny golden lamps glowed along the rooftops. Soft blue paths shimmered through the gardens. High on the hill, white wind turbines turned like sleepy pinwheels. “What makes all those lights shine?” Mira wondered. Just then, a warm moonbeam slipped through her window. It curled across the floor like a silver ribbon. “Come and see,” whispered the moonbeam. Mira put on her soft green slippers. She stepped onto the ribbon. Up they floated. Over the houses. Quietly. Gently. It felt like a little boat drifting on a still pond. First, they stopped beside a field of sunflowers. Rows of solar panels stood among the flowers. They tilted toward the starry sky. “During the day, these panels gather sunlight,” said the moonbeam. “They save its energy. Then homes can glow after the sun has gone to sleep.” Mira held her hand near a panel. It was pleasantly warm. It seemed to remember the afternoon. “Good night, sunshine,” she whispered. Then the moonbeam carried her to the hill. The wind turbines turned in the evening breeze. Whoosh... hush... Whoosh... hush... “The wind helps make electricity,” the moonbeam said. “One day, turbines may be even quieter. Even kinder to nature. They may gather energy from the gentlest breeze.” Mira watched them turn. Slowly, slowly. They looked like tall white flowers dancing in the night. Beyond the hill was the sea. Far from shore, round platforms bobbed on the water. They gathered energy from the sun, the wind, and the rolling waves. The waves rose and fell. Up and down. In and out. Up and down. Mira’s shoulders softened. “Will everything use clean energy one day?” she asked. “People are learning,” said the moonbeam. “They are making batteries that save sunny afternoons for cloudy mornings. They are making quiet buses. They are building homes that use only the energy t