The Cloud Who Would Not Rain

Puff tucked himself tight and said, “Not mine.” Days went by, and little bits of mist floated up from the sea to join Puff. One hundred raindrops became two hundred, and two hundred became four hundred. Four hundred became so many that Puff lost count, and he grew rounder, grayer, and very heavy.

The other clouds floated like feathers while Puff sagged like a full shopping bag. The big gray cloud asked, “Are you all right?” Puff grumbled, “I am FINE.” But Puff was not fine: he was so heavy that he could barely float over a fence.

Down and down Puff sank, until his bottom brushed the sunflowers. The flowers drooped over dirt split with cracks. To beat the heat, a small frog sat on a stone and fanned himself with a leaf. The frog looked up and asked, “Excuse me, are you a rain cloud?”

Puff said, “No.” The frog squinted at the huge gray cloud hanging over his head. The frog said, “You look like a rain cloud.” Puff said, “I am a KEEPING cloud.”

The frog said, “The flowers are thirsty, and the worms have gone deep.” “And my pond is more of a soup bowl.” said the frog. Puff said, “Not my problem.” Puff pushed with all his might to float away…

He only wobbled. Puff hung over the garden, wobbling and grumbling as he squeezed with all his might to hold on to every raindrop. Every raindrop pressed harder until Puff's edges ached. A tickly piece of sunflower fluff floated up toward his nose.

It landed right on the tip. Puff's nose twitched as he whispered, “Oh no, no, no…” Puff drew one tiny breath and said, “Ah…” The flowers seemed to hold their breath and wait.

Deep underground, four little worms crossed their tiny ends. AH… CHOOOO! Everything let go at once! PITTER-PATTER-PITTER-PATTER-SPLISH-SPLASH-SPLOOSH!

The flowers sprang up straight and drank through their roots. Water filled the cracks until the dirt closed tight. The four worms popped up and danced anyway. The little puddle grew into a real, proper pond.

The frog leaped in with the happiest SPLOOP the garden had ever heard! Puff wailed, “MY RAINDROPS! Come back!” Then Puff stopped and noticed something… He felt lighter than a feather.

Up and up Puff floated like a soap bubble. “Oh,” whispered Puff, understanding at last why the big clouds looked happy when they rained. Letting go did not feel like losing. It felt like flying. The frog called, “Thank you, rain cloud!”

Puff started, “I am not a…” but then he stopped. The flowers waved their bright faces at Puff. Nobody had ever waved at Puff before, because a cloud that keeps everything gives nobody a reason to say thank you. Puff said, “You are welcome,” and looped around the sky.

That evening, soft mist rose from the sea and filled Puff for tomorrow. The sky always fills you back up: rain falls down and mist floats up, around and around, forever. So there is never any reason to hold on so tight. As the sun set and turned every cloud pink, one big cloud murmured, “Good raining today, little one.”

Puff yawned, “Tomorrow I am doing the meadow.” Puff drifted to sleep, pink and light and happy, with plenty of fresh raindrops for tomorrow. One… two… three… and plenty more for tomorrow’s meadow. Goodnight, Puff.