The Cloud Who Wanted to Stay Small

High above the green hills lived a little white cloud named Puff.

Puff was small and round and fluffy. He looked like a ball of cotton, or a puff of whipped cream. That is how he got his name.

Puff loved being small. Small clouds could float fast. Whoosh! Across the sky in a moment. Small clouds could dip and twirl and spin. And best of all, small clouds could make funny shapes.

In the morning, Puff made himself into a bunny, with two long ears. In the afternoon, he made himself into a boat, with a tall pointy sail.

Down below, on a farm at the bottom of the hills, lived a little girl named Hana. Every day, Hana lay in the grass and looked up at the sky.

"A bunny!" she would shout, pointing at Puff. "A boat!"

Puff loved that. He loved it when Hana laughed. So every day, he made a new shape, just for her.

"I am the luckiest cloud in the sky," Puff told the wind. "I never want to change."

But that summer, something did change.

The sun shone and shone. Day after day, it was hot and bright. The sky stayed blue and empty. No big clouds came. No rain came at all.

The green hills began to turn yellow. The grass grew dry and crunchy. Crackle, crackle, it went under Hana's feet. The flowers in the fields bent their heads low, as if they were too tired to stand.

The little stream by the farm grew thin. Then thinner. Then it was just a trickle.

Every morning, Hana's grandpa stood in the field and looked up at the sky.

"We need rain," he said softly. "The hills need rain. The flowers need rain. Our garden needs rain."

Hana held up her little green watering can. She turned it upside down. Not one drop came out.

"My flowers are thirsty too," she said.

High above, Puff heard every word.

Puff knew a secret about rain. Only big clouds could make it. Big, heavy, gray clouds full of water. Little white clouds like Puff did not have enough water inside them. Not even for one small shower.

To make rain, Puff would have to grow. He would have to float all the way out to the sea. He would have to drink up the warm mist that rose from the waves, little by little, until he was big and heavy.

Big clouds could not float fast. Big clouds could not twirl. And big clouds could not make bunny shapes. They were just big, gray, and slow.

"But I like being small," Puff said to the wind. "I like being a bunny. I like being a boat. What if I grow big and never get to be little again?"

The wind did not answer right away. It blew gently around him, cool and soft.

"Look down, Puff," the wind whispered. "The hills need you."

So Puff looked down.

He saw the yellow grass. He saw the tired flowers with their heads bent low. He saw the thin little stream. And he saw Hana, sitting in the dry field, holding her empty watering can in her lap.

She was not looking up at the sky today. She was not pointing and laughing. She was just looking at the ground.

Puff felt a funny feeling inside him. It was a heavy feeling, even though he was still so light.

"All right," Puff said quietly. "I will go."

So Puff floated away from the hills. Over the farm. Over the road. Over the sandy beach. All the way out to the wide, blue sea.

The sea was warm and sparkly. Soft mist rose up from the waves, like steam from a bath.

Puff took a sip of mist. He grew a tiny bit bigger.

He took another sip. He grew a little bit bigger.

Sip, grow. Sip, grow. Sip, grow.

He drank all afternoon. He grew bigger and bigger. His fluffy white sides grew wide and soft. His round middle turned silver, and then a gentle gray.

Now Puff could not float fast. He could only drift, slow and steady. He tried to make a bunny shape, but his ears would not stay up. He was simply too heavy.

"That is all right," Puff told himself. "I have a job to do."

The wind came along and gave him a kind push. "This way," it said. "Back to the hills."

Slowly, slowly, Puff drifted back over the beach. Over the road. Over the farm.

Down below, Hana looked up. Her eyes grew wide.

"Grandpa!" she called. "Look! A big cloud! A big, kind cloud!"

Her grandpa came running out of the barn. He looked up too. And a slow smile spread across his face.

Puff floated right over the dry hills. He took a deep breath. Then he let out a long, gentle sigh.

Pitter, patter.

Pitter, patter.

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

Rain began to fall. It fell on the yellow grass. It fell on the tired flowers. It fell on the thin little stream. It fell on the roof of the farmhouse, tap, tap, tap, like tiny fingers playing a drum.

And it fell right into Hana's green watering can, until it was full to the very top.

Hana laughed. She spun in circles with her arms out wide. She jumped in a brand new puddle. Splash! She jumped in another one. Splash, splash!

Her grandpa laughed too. He tipped his straw hat back and let the rain fall on his face.

All around them, the flowers began to lift their heads. Pink ones, yellow ones, white ones. They seemed to be smiling up at the sky.

Puff rained and rained, softly and kindly, until the hills had all the water they needed.

And then something wonderful happened.

When the last drop fell, Puff felt light again. Light as a feather. Light as a puff of whipped cream. He was small and white and fluffy, just like before.

He floated up, up, up, high into the clear blue sky. He gave a happy little twirl.

Then he made himself into a bunny, with two long ears.

Down in the wet green field, Hana spotted him right away.

"A bunny!" she shouted, pointing and waving with both hands. "Thank you, little cloud!"

Puff wiggled his bunny ears at her.

He had been big. He had been gray and slow. And now he was small again.

But somehow, Puff felt lighter than he had ever felt before.