AND IF THE MOON COULD TALK

Savor the endpapers, which open with a van Goghlike night scene of muted, window-lit houses clustered around a shining lake. Step into a cozy interior of a child's room at bedtime, inhabited by stuffed animals, a red bed, and an expanse of carpet, radiating all the warmth of Hurd's scene of the great green room. The events here are quiet ones—the ticking of a clock, the reading of a book, the flicking on of a light. Alternating with the interior landscapes is the moon's-eye-view across the globe of other slumber scenes—boats docked at a seaside port, nomads and camels crouched among desert dunes, a lion licking her cubs in a faraway den. A dreaming child blends the two worlds in a caravan of color. Readers and listeners alike will find that the poetic text and molten illustrations glow, ember-like, long after the child of the book has been tucked in and the moon has murmured its good-night. (Picture book. 2-5)