16-Page Read: Goodnight Moon

It’s the colors, I tell myself. That’s what makes Goodnight Moon so good.

It’s the warmth – the dark reds and greens and golds, all shaded by the cloak of night. It’s the comfort of the shade as it descends over the room.

It’s the warm comforter. The old lady whispering hush, looking over the room and making sure everything is safe. The kittens playing, oblivious to the night creeping in. The paintings. The fire. Especially the fire.

Sometimes, it’s that twinge of goofiness that makes it fun for an adult. You don’t typically say goodnight to a bowl of mush. Or to the paintings on the wall. Or to your socks. Mittens. Nothing at all. But in this world, you do. In this world, you say goodnight to everything.

Which is why I think I love the book so much. It’s irrelevant, yet it encompasses every part of the day – from morning to night, from living to imagined. From light to dark. From nourishment to triviality.

It’s hard to explain exactly what makes Goodnight Moon so special without simply saying, “It’s just good.” That might be the only explanation you need. It’s just good. It’s not offensive, or annoying, or too long or too short. It’s mind blowing in that it’s so simple. So catchy.

Most of all, it’s the safety in repetition – in saying good night to every single thing around you.

Just as Sierra does each night, sometimes whispering, sometimes yelling: “Nigh nigh.” Nothing is missed. Everything is accounted for. Order is comfortably restored and ready to be destroyed the next morning, once the moon has set and the sun is ready to show its face.

Goodnight television. Goodnight Becket. Goodnight rubber duck. Goodnight door. Goodnight mommy. Goodnight balloon. Goodnight daddy. Goodnight light.

Goodnight moon.