In Tanzania, where the days are warm and the air smells of coffee flowers, there is a mountain so tall it wears snow on its head like a soft white hat.
Its name is Kilimanjaro, and it is the tallest mountain in all of Africa.
That is a funny and wonderful thing, because Kilimanjaro stands near the middle of the world, where it is hot. But the higher you climb, the colder it gets, and right at the very top it is cold enough for snow, all year round.
At the bottom of the mountain live the Chagga people, who grow bananas and coffee in the rich dark soil. A little higher, tall trees drip with mist, and black and white colobus monkeys leap between the branches like flying scarves.
Higher still, the trees give up and the grass grows short and silver. Elephants sometimes wander through, leaving footprints as big as dinner plates.
And at the very, very top, there is nothing but ice and quiet and sky.
Every evening the sun goes down behind Kilimanjaro, and the mountain turns pink, then purple, then a deep soft blue. The monkeys settle. The elephants grow still. The lights come on in the villages below.
And the great mountain stands there all night long in its snowy hat, keeping watch, while everyone underneath it sleeps.
Goodnight, mountain. Goodnight, elephants.
Goodnight, you.



