Firlefanz and the Dream Factory
Where do dreams actually come from? Firlefanz wants to find out and travels up to the mysterious Dream Factory in the clouds!
When Firlefanz opened his eyes, he smiled still quite sleepily. He had had that beautiful dream again: He flew through a soft night with a warm star at his paw. This dream had come to him every night for the whole week. "Where do dreams actually come from?" Firlefanz asked softly into his pillow.
At breakfast, Firlefanz nibbled on a warm milk sandwich and drizzled a little honey on it. While he chewed, he looked out the window at the soft morning sky. There, a few delicate clouds floated by — fluffy like cotton. "Maybe Papalapapp knows," thought Firlefanz and jumped off the table.
Over at Papalapapp's, the morning coffee cup steamed quietly on the table. Papalapapp sat in the armchair and flipped through an old book. "Papalapapp, where do dreams come from?" asked Firlefanz. Papalapapp smiled deeply and set the book aside. "High up in the clouds is the Dream Factory. There, all dreams are woven. If you like — we can visit it today."
Firlefanz got his soft travel coat, sturdy boots, walking stick, and hat. Papalapapp packed a basket with apple slices, a thermos of warm milk, and a tiny notebook. Then they closed the door behind them, waved goodbye to their little house, and set off on the long journey.
Together they wandered over seven seas, through seven deserts, over seven mountains, along seven rivers, through seven forests, and over seven windy hills. Finally, way up high, they saw a narrow cloud staircase made of soft moonlight leading up into the sky. They gently climbed up.
At the top, on a big fluffy cloud, stood a beautiful round house with many little towers and soft chimneys. From the chimneys curled delicate, colorful little clouds — pink, purple, light blue, and mint green. "That's it," whispered Papalapapp in awe. "The Dream Factory."
The round door slowly opened, and an old, cozy owl with gray, soft feathers and a slightly crooked nightcap peeked out. "Oh, hello — visitors!" she purred kindly. "I am Schnurr, the Dream Master." "Come in, you two. Up here, dreaming is the most beautiful."
Inside, it was soft and cozy like in a feather bed. All around, little fluffy beings buzzed about — the dream weavers. With tiny paws, they spun soft dreams on golden spinning wheels, light and airy like cotton candy. Some dreams were blue like the sea, some orange like the sunset. Firlefanz gazed in wonder with wide-open eyes.
Schnurr led Firlefanz to a tiny spinning wheel that waited quietly. "Here you can spin your own dream," said Schnurr softly. Firlefanz closed his eyes and thought of warm stars and gentle wings. Soon the wheel began to turn, and a soft, silvery-blue dream was spun.
A dream weaver handed Firlefanz a small, round glass. Gently, he caught the finished dream in it — the dream sparkled like a tiny star nebula. Schnurr pressed a soft cork onto the glass. "There," he said warmly. "You can place it under your pillow tonight. Then you may dream it."
They said goodbye to Schnurr and all the dream weavers. The cloud staircase gently carried them back down to the world. All the way home, Firlefanz carefully carried the glass in both paws. The little dream inside shimmered quietly — as if it was already looking forward to the night.
When Firlefanz and Papalapapp stood back in the garden, the sun set golden, and the first stars came out. Firlefanz slipped into his bed, carefully placed the glass under his pillow, and yawned deeply. "Good night, little dream," he whispered. And soon he flew again with a warm star at his paw through a soft night — and happily fell asleep.