The Moon's Missing Button

I wanted to love this more than I did. The concept — a misplaced piece of moonlight as a button — is charming, but the story leans so heavily on cute imagery that it occasionally feels hollow. There’s a predictability to Etta’s arc: she notices, she follows the sprite, she fixes the moon, she comes home calmer. Fine for a bedtime read, but by the time the ladder of light appears under the elm I was waiting for some real surprise that never comes. Pacing is another issue: long, lingering descriptions (the roof of the night, the pocket of mist) slow things to a crawl instead of building tension or wonder. And some plot questions are never addressed — why does the moon have a button? Why was it loose now? Those choices might be intentional, but for me they read like holes. The ending’s "gentle steadiness" is pleasant enough, but the story plays its cards too safely. Not awful — just a little too saccharine and thin for my taste. 🙃

Sweet, cozy, and exactly the kind of thing I’d hand to a kid who’s afraid the dark. The writing treats small details like they matter — Kiko’s ear, the silver leaves on the curtains, that little glowing button on the sill. The climb up the ladder of light under the elm is a wonderful image: simple, magical, believable. I liked how the story turned night into something that could be stitched back together. Read it slow, savor the sentences, and it’ll work like a bedtime balm. Nice one.

There’s a lovely hush to this one. The description of the dark feeling "unfinished" hit me in the chest — such an exact feeling for restless nights. I adored Nim’s soft-bell introduction and the tactile weirdness of the button (a pocket of mist! my mind loved that). The climb up the ladder of light under the elm felt like a childhood rite of passage, a tiny adventure that returns you steadier. This is the kind of bedtime story that doesn’t shove a lesson down your throat; it gifts a mood. The ending — Etta carrying that new, gentle steadiness home — stayed with me. If you want something delicate and calming to read before sleep, this is it 🌙.

Measured and concise, this story is a study in small, effective details. The premise — a missing scrap of moonlight treated like a literal button — could have tipped into whimsy or mawkishness, but the author keeps the language spare and tactile: the hem slipped like a stitch, the pocket of mist that feels like “gentle skin.” Those images carry the narrative. I appreciated the quiet logic: Etta notices the looseness in the night, investigates, receives guidance from Nim, and completes a simple, symbolic task by returning the button. The ladder of light under the elm is a neat visual that grounds the fantastical in something almost domestic. Pacing is deliberate, which suits a bedtime category; the prose invites slow reading aloud. Not everything is fully explained (why the moon needed a button at all), but that ambiguity is part of its charm. A restrained, well-crafted bedtime fable.

I read this to my little niece last night and we both sighed at the same places — that moment when Etta presses her palms to the window and finds the moon’s “button” warm on the sill made us pause. The story is so gently made: Kiko’s sleepy tumble, Nim’s soft-bell introduction, and the ladder of light under the elm all felt like parts of a familiar ritual rather than plot points. I loved how the author treats the night as something that can be mended with tenderness; the line about the roof of the night feeling thinner than it should was quietly heartbreaking and somehow hopeful. It’s a perfect bedtime tale because it honors the small, secret fixings that make a child’s world safe again. The pacing never rushes — you can almost feel the steps as Etta climbs the ladder of light — and the ending, where she carries a new, gentle steadiness home, left me with a warm hush. Lyrical without being showy, intimate without being cloying. Highly recommended for anyone who wants a soothing read-before-sleep ritual.