Shadow Lessons In A Quiet Grove

A magical bedtime story for kids about listening, patience, and the calm power of quiet.

Join us for MAGICAL Lanterns in the Enchanted Grove where Leafy learns to listen, Max learns to slow down, and friends discover how promises and truth make music.

 This gentle bedtime story for kids explores calm focus, honesty, and shared stillness.

 Perfect for winding down and family listening on Tiny Tales Wondercast.

Chapters

• 0:00 Welcome And The Shadow Lesson
• 0:24 Leafy Learns Stillness In The Grove
• 6:51 The Wind Coaches Max To Slow Down
• 10:48 Pindle’s Tangled Promises
• 19:36 Larry And The Echo Tree
• 22:41 Jasper’s Reading Mystery In The Tower
• 27:14 Closing Lantern And Farewell

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:02

Welcome to TinyTales Wondercast. Find a comfy spot. Take one soft breath with me. Today we visit Alderwise and Leafy, the Shadow Lesson. Before we start, make sure to subscribe, follow us on YouTube, or visit TinyTalesLand.com for all our stories, coloring pages, and more. Morning light rested on the meadow. Ribbons lay quiet in the grass. Coins of light flickered on moss inside the grove. Leafy twirled once and then stopped. The sky looks pale, she said. What if the bright part of the day is gone? Alderwise watched the leaves move. The day is still here, he said. It is only gentle. Leafy listened and frowned. Gentle feels empty, she said. What if no one sees me when I am still? Friends see, said Alderwise. Roots drink in the quiet. The grove is working. Leafy peered toward the trees. I hear tiny sounds, she said. I want to know what they mean. Come and sit, said Alderwise. Let us meet the shade and learn its ways. Leafy took a small breath. She stepped toward the grove. The coins of light waited. The lesson was about to begin. They reached the edge of the grove. Soft light broke into tiny coins on the moss. The air felt cool and kind. Leafy crouched beside Alderwise. I do not know how to be still, she said. My feet want to dance. Then let them learn a slower dance, said Alderwise. Watch the fern. See how it opens. Leafy watched a curled tip uncurl. It moved so slowly that time felt wide. It is moving, she whispered. It is just quiet. A beetle crossed a root. Count the steps, said Alderwise. Give the world a turn to speak, Leafy counted. One, two, three. Her voice turned soft. I can hear the leaves breathe. She set one ribbon on the ground. I will make a small parade, she said. Only one sign to say I am here. Good, said Alderwise. Leave space for other signs. Wind touched the ribbon. The bough trembled and then rested. Leafy rested too. A cloud slid over the sun. The grove grew dim and still. Leafy gripped her extra ribbons. The day is hiding, she said. I should make it bright again. Alderwise shook his head. Try a test, he said. Ten slow breaths. Let the grove answer. Leafy looked at the moss. What if nothing answers? she asked. What if quiet is only empty? Then we will learn that truth, said Alderwise. We will learn it together. Leafy set the ribbons down. I will count, she said. I will listen. One, she whispered. The fern moved a little. Two, she said. The beetle tapped the root. Three, she said. A wren rustled. Four, she said. A cool thread of air slid by. She closed her eyes. Five, she said. Six. The grove felt wide. Seven, she said. Eight. Coins of light returned to the moss. Nine, she said. A bell flower trembled. Ten, she said. The tiny bell rang. Leafy opened her eyes and smiled. Light returned in soft pieces. The grove breathed. Leafy let her shoulders drop. The bell was real, she said. The quiet was working. It was, said Alderwise. You gave it time. Leafy touched the moss. I want to try the quiet with friends, she said. I want to share it. Begin small, said Alderwise. Choose one act. Let it fit the place. Leafy lifted one ribbon. I will not start a parade, she said. I will make a listening sign. What is a listening sign? asked Alderwise. Leafy set the ribbon beside the path. It tells others to speak first, she said. It means I am here and I will wait. A breeze moved the leaves. Coins of light trembled and then settled. I can hear the beetle again, said Leafy. I can hear my own breath. Alderwise smiled. Your breath counts too, he said. It feeds the roots inside you. Leafy smiled back. I feel lighter, she said. I feel seen and quiet at the same time. The next morning Leafy came early. The meadow felt fresh. Coins of light waited under the grove. She carried one ribbon and two listening ears. I will ask first, she said. Then I will help. Friends gathered by the path. Birch asked for a quiet drawing game. Pip wanted a beetle race beside the roots. Leafy nodded to both. I will hold a paper for you, she said to Birch. You choose the colors. I will mark the tiny course, she said to Pip. You start the count. They laughed in soft voices. The ribbon lay still. The games moved like water. Alderwise watched from the shade. You made room, he said. You let the day breathe. Leafy looked at the grove. Shadows did not steal the light, she said. They fed the roots. The bellflower trembled. A small ring floated across the grass. Leafy smiled and rested her hands. The meadow felt bright and calm. Evening settled over the grove. Coins of light faded. Leafy rested her ribbon and listened to her breath. The bell flower gave one small ring and then grew still. A thin wind slipped past the leaves. It brushed Alderwise on the cheek. He smiled and looked toward the river. Did you feel that? Leafy asked. I did, said Alderwise. The wind carried a word. Leafy tilted her head. What word did it carry? Slow down, said Alderwise. I think the wind is calling to a friend. High above the reeds a small shape crossed the sky. His ears caught the breeze. His wings beat fast. Max, Leafy whispered, the wind is talking to Max. Alderwise nodded. Let us hear what the wind will teach him next. Twilight rested on the river. The water held a thin gold line. Max sliced the sky and laughed. He loved the rush and the roar of speed. A whisper touched his ear. Slow down, it said. Max flipped once and flashed a grin. I am built for speed, he said. The whisper followed him. Slow down. His wing nicked a hidden twig. A sting ran along the edge. He wobbled and glided toward Alderwise on the hill. His cheeks burned. Alderwise washed the scrape with cool water. What did the wind say? he asked. Max looked at the grass. It said slow down, he said. Alderwise set a hand on his shoulder. Then listen in the morning, he said. Let the breeze be your coach. Night gathered over the reeds. The whisper waited in the dark. Max closed his eyes and held the word like a small light. Morning came bright and clear. The river shone like a long mirror. Max stood on the hill and took a slow breath. Soft start, he said. He opened his wings and lifted without rush. The breeze brushed his feathers. He matched his strokes to its gentle beat. New sounds reached him. He heard tiny peeps in the reeds. Ducklings, he said. He hovered and saw a bent stem across their path. He noted the trouble and moved on so he could learn more. By the creek a rope swing gave a tired creak. That knot looks loose, he said. He circled once and marked the spot with his eyes. On the bank, ants made a crooked line around sharp thistles. You need a small bridge, he said. The world felt wider when he moved with care. Max counted steady strokes. One, two, three. His chest felt tall and calm. The wind pressed his ear again and made a quiet word. Slow down, it said. Gold. Evening rested on the hill. Max folded his wings and smiled. The river moved like a long ribbon of light. A small bright note rose from the market road. It skipped over the water and landed in the grass. Alderwise listened. That sounds like Pindle, he said. Max tilted his head. He plays for crowds, he said. He likes the cheer. Another note rang, then another. Laughter floated up from the stalls. Pindle's song walked from booth to booth. He bowed, he waved, he chattered, the notes sparkled like soap bubbles in the air. Alderweise's leaves stirred. Music is a promise too, he said. Max watched the road. He is making many smiles, he said. The sun slipped lower, the bright notes hurried. The road curved toward the mill. Alderwise stood. Come, he said, let us see what Pindle promised and what he will learn. Market morning hummed along the river. Stalls glittered with jars and ribbons. Pindle the Cricket tuned his tiny fiddle and bowed to the crowd. I will play at the beaver dam at sunset, he said. The beavers cheered. Warm light filled his chest. Ten steps later he met the mice by the grain sacks. I will lead your harvest dance at sunset, he said. The mice clapped and spun. Bubbles of joy seemed to float in the air. Pindle basked in the smiles and skipped down the lane. Plenty of time, he chirped. I will make it work. By noon the sun climbed high. By afternoon it began to fall. Pindle looked up at the sky and felt his antennae droop. One sun, he whispered. Two shows. His song wavered. The river kept its slow tune. Evening pressed closer. Pindle held his fiddle and felt a knot begin to tighten. Pindle hurried along the road. The market sang around him. The sun slipped lower. He bowed to a line of friends. He waved to the baker. He promised a morning tune for tomorrow. His chest felt bright and busy. At the mill he met Alderwise. The old tree listened. How many songs did you promise? Alderwise asked. Pindle looked at his fiddle. Two at sunset, he said. The dam and the harvest dance. Alderwise touched a leaf to the air. Strings can sing, he said. Strings can tangle. Which kind are your promises? Pindle felt a pull inside. The pull tightened like a knot. Tangled, he said. The sun will choose for you if you do not choose, said Alderwise. Pick the truth you can keep. Then speak the truth you dropped. Pindle stared at the river. The light thinned. If I choose the dam, he said, the mice will be sad. If you choose nothing, said Alderwise, two crowds will be sad. Pindle held his fiddle and swallowed. He had to decide. The sun touched the hill. The first stars waited. Pindle pressed his fiddle to his chin. I choose the dam, he said. I will keep one promise true. Alderwise nodded. Go and give them your whole song, he said. Pindle ran along the bank. The beavers stood by fresh logs. Water slipped through a narrow gate. The air smelled like clean wood. Pindle climbed a warm stone. Thank you for waiting, he said. I will play you a steady tune. He closed his eyes and drew the bow. The notes came slow and strong. They rose like a careful wall. The dam workers found the beat. Tails thumped in time, the gate held. The stream smoothed. Pindle felt the knot in his chest begin to ease. When the last note faded, he bowed low. That was all my heart, he said. He looked toward the fields. The mice would be ending their dance. His antennae trembled. It is time to tell the truth, he whispered. He lifted his case and ran for the mill road. Pindle reached the grain field as dusk settled. Lanterns glowed along the rows. The mice stacked baskets and tied ribbons. He stopped at the edge of the floor. His bow hung at his side. I am late, he said. I promised two shows at one time. The mice turned, some faces fell, some waited. Pindle stepped closer. I kept the damn concert true, he said. I did not keep this one. I am sorry. A murmur moved through the crowd. The bandmouse looked at the sky. The dance is ending, she said. Pindle nodded. If you allow me, he said, I will play you home. He lifted the fiddle to his chin. He drew one soft note. The note held like warm tea. He added another. The baskets paused. Feet slowed, heads lifted. The band mouse listened. Play the path, she said. Play a gentle line for packing. Pindle breathed. His bow found a tender rhythm. The field grew calm. The truth began to mend. Night settled over the fields. Lanterns made small islands of light. Pindle lowered his bow. The last soft note faded. The mice tied their baskets and smiled a little. He bowed to the bandmouse. Thank you for hearing me, he said. I learned tonight. What did you learn? she asked. A promise kept is music, he said. A promise dropped becomes noise. Next time I will book one show and sing twice as true. The bandmouse nodded. You told the truth, she said. That helps. Pindle turned toward the river road. He found Alderwise by the mill. The old tree listened to the water. I kept one promise, Pindle said. I told the truth for the other. The song felt clear. Alderwise smiled. Clear songs grow from clear choices, he said. Pindle tucked his fiddle into its case. His chest felt warm and steady. The market lay quiet. The river kept its slow tune. Tomorrow I will choose with care, he whispered. I will set one promise and keep it whole. The night held the words like a gentle chord. Night cooled the market road. Pindle closed his case and felt a calm, warm note inside his chest. The river sang a slow line. The mill wheel turned. A small sound drifted from the deep forest. It was not a fiddle note. It was thinner and older. It moved like a thread through the leaves. Alderwise lifted his head. Do you hear that? he said. The hollow trunk is awake. Pindle listened. The sound rose and faded. It answers when you speak, he said. It turns words into music. Footsteps rustled near the path. Larry the listener stepped from the shadows with a quiet smile. He carried no instrument. He carried his open hands. I am going to the old trunk, Larry said. I want to hear what it hears. Alderwise nodded. The forest keeps many voices, he said. Give it room. Larry walked toward the trees. The market lights dimmed behind him. The hush of leaves grew wide. Somewhere ahead the echo tree waited. Its hollow mouth held a gentle promise. Morning mist rested on the forest floor. Dew shone on the ferns. A hollow trunk stood near a bend in the path. Larry the listener stepped close and smiled. Hello, he said. Hello, the trunk answered. The sound rose like a small song and drifted through the leaves. Larry laughed. I have a story, he said. Will you hear it? The trunk replied with a gentle tone. I will. Larry told a funny bit from Market Day. The echo turned his words into music. He told a small sad piece about a lost ribbon. The music grew soft and kind. He shared a tiny mystery about tracks by the creek. The music twined around the roots. Larry touched the bark. You make my words sound true, he said. The forest breathed. The hollow waited. Larry leaned nearer, ready to listen for what the tree might say next. A gray morning cooled the path. Mist hung low between the trees. Larry came to the hollow trunk. Hello, he said. Nothing answered, only the hush of leaves. He waited. He tried again. Hello, he said. The trunk stayed quiet. Larry sat at the roots. He set his hands open on his knees. I will listen, he whispered. At first he heard only his own breath. It moved in and out like a small tide. Then tiny layers began to rise. He heard the scrape of a beetle. He heard one drop of dew fall from a fern. A high branch gave a slow creak. Far off a wren made a round note. Larry kept still. He felt the forest speaking in soft pieces. He had talked over it before. I forgot, he said. Listening is leaving room. He rested his palm on the bark and waited with care. The mist thinned, light touched the trunk. Larry kept his palms open and his breath slow. I will not push, he said. I will leave room. A beetle paused by his shoe. He watched it pass. A drop of dew slid down the bark. He watched it fall. The wind rose and then faded, leaves settled. The forest felt like a big chest taking one long breath. Larry leaned close. I am here, he whispered. I am not asking for a show. I am listening. A soft stir moved inside the hollow. It sounded like felt on wood. It sounded like a note being borne. Thank you, the trunk said. Larry blinked. For what? he asked. For leaving room, the trunk said. The voice was thin and kind. Larry pressed his hand to the bark. His eyes warmed. I forgot, he said. Listening is not waiting to talk. It is making space so truth can fit. The forest answered with a small chorus. A wren sang, a branch creaked. The echo held the words and made them shine. Afternoon warmed the path. The forest shone with small, clean sounds. Larry stood and brushed the moss from his knees. I will keep the room I made, he said. The trunk gave one soft note. It rang and then rested. Larry walked toward the bend. He met Alderwise by the mill road. I heard the hollow speak, Larry said. It thanked me. For what? Alderwise asked. For leaving room, Larry said. I learned that listening is not a trick. It is a gift of space. Alderwise smiled. Then you will carry that gift, he said. Larry looked back toward the trees. I will return, he said. Some days with stories, some days with quiet. Evening touched the ferns with gold. The echo kept a gentle hush. Larry felt light and steady. He listened to the river sing. He walked on with open hands and a calm step. Evening touched the mill road. Larry walked with a quiet smile. The river sang its slow line. Market lights blinked out one by one. A bell from the hill tower gave a soft ring. Larry looked up. Warm windows glowed in the stone. Books waited inside like lanterns. Alderwise lifted a leaf. Jasper is calling, he said. Larry listened. Footsteps pattered along the path. Two bunnies held paws. A bear cub hugged a small pack. A fox kit carried a pencil. A young owlet watched the sky. They are going to the tower, Larry said. They are going to meet a mystery, said Alderwise. It lives inside the quiet that books can make. The bell rang again. The door opened with a gentle creak. Jasper stood in the light. Come in, he said. Bring your bright minds. Bring your calm. The forest breathed. The tower waited. Night held its breath as the children climbed the steps and the lesson began. Night gathered around the tower. Warm windows shone in the stone. Books lined the walls like small lanterns. Jasper the Owl dusted a shelf. The light felt dim. Fewer children had come. The games outside were loud. The pages inside were quiet. He rang a small bell. Footsteps came up the path. Two bunnies held paws. A bear cub carried a little pack. A fox kit tucked a pencil behind one ear. A young owlet watched the sky. Welcome, said Jasper. I have a mystery for us tonight. The children stood very still. What kind of mystery? asked the fox. A quiet one, said Jasper. He set an hourglass on the table. What happens inside you when you read for twelve minutes? The room breathed. Dust turned in the light. The sand waded in the glass. Jasper folded his wings. Choose a book, he said. We will begin when the first grain falls. Jasper turned the hourglass. The first grain fell. The room grew still. He chose with care. He handed a funny adventure to one bunny. He gave a gentle picture book to the other. He set a short play in the bear cub's paws. He passed a clue mystery to the fox. He opened a wordless book of painted skies for the young owlet. Begin, he said. At first there were wiggles. The chair legs clicked. The bear cleared his throat. Then shoulders lowered, eyes narrowed, breaths slowed. The bear tried a brave voice. He tried a silly one. The bunnies leaned in and mouthed lines. They turned pages with careful thumbs. The fox underlined a tiny clue. He looked up with delight. I think I see it, he said. The owlet traced the sweep of a brush. She smiled at the soft blue. She sighed like someone opening a window. Jasper walked the circle. He did not add words. He watched the hourglass. The sand moved. The lantern feeling grew. The hourglass ran low. Only a thin stream of sand remained. The room held its breath. Jasper stood very still. He did not speak. He watched the children read. The bear lifted his chin and read one brave line. He made the words sound strong. He made them sound kind. The bunnies whispered the last page together. Their paws touched at the corner. The fox circled a clue with his pencil and smiled. His eyes shone. The young owlet traced a soft blue cloud and closed her eyes for a heartbeat. The last grain dropped. Silence rang like a tiny bell. Jasper said, Report. The first bunny said, I went fast inside. The second bunny said, pictures felt warm. The bear said, the words held my paw. The fox said, I solved a thing no one told me. The owlet pointed to her chest and whispered, Quiet grew. Jasper nodded once. The tower seemed brighter. The books glowed. The room breathed again. Jasper turned the hourglass on its side. The sand rested. He spoke softly. Keep the feeling, he said. Tell your body where it lives. The first bunny touched her chest. It is warm here, she said, and the second bunny touched her forehead. It is quiet here, she said. The bear flexed his paws. My paws feel brave, he said. The fox tapped his pencil once. My eyes feel sharp, he said. The young owlet spread her fingers. My breath feels wide, she said. Jasper nodded. He walked to the slate. He wrote in slow chalk lines. Books are lanterns you carry inward. He stepped back. The words seemed to glow. He lowered the lamp a little, the shelves shone like a soft path. The children closed their books with care. Hold the lantern, Jasper said. We will walk with it. Night settled around the tower. Stars touched the window glass. Jasper opened the door. Cool air moved along the floor. The children stood with their books held close. Thank you for reading, Jasper said. Take the lantern feeling with you. The first bunny nodded. I will read to my sister, she said. The second bunny smiled. I will draw a quiet picture, she said. The bear hugged his play. I will try the brave voice for bedtime, he said. The fox tucked his pencil away. I will look for clues on the path, he said. The young owlet lifted her wordless book. I will carry the sky inside, she said. Jasper walked to the slate. He read the chalk line. Books are lanterns you carry inward. He brushed the dust from his feathers. The bell gave one soft ring. The children waved and went down the steps. Their feet made a gentle rhythm. Jasper watched the last lamp fade along the road. The tower felt bright again. He folded his wings and smiled. The lantern is lit, he said. It will travel. Thank you for listening to Tiny Tales Wondercast. Hold the lantern feeling inside your chest. Let it glow while you rest. Tell someone what you heard. Tell someone what you felt. If you liked our stories, follow the show and share it with a friend. You can visit TinyTalesland.com for more gentle adventures. Sleep well, bright minds. The grove is quiet, the river sings, we will meet again soon.