High up in the bright blue sky lived a little cloud named Puffy.
Puffy was extra proud of himself. He was round, he was soft, and he was completely stuffed with cool, tingly rain. If he had pockets, they would have been full too.
“Look at me!” Puffy would shout, puffing out his misty chest. “I am the biggest, fluffiest cloud in the whole sky. And I am keeping all my rain right here, just for me!”
He hugged his raindrops tight. Plip. Plip. Plip. They shivered inside him, waiting to fall.
Sometimes the playful wind came whistling by.
“Whooooosh! Come on, Puffy,” the wind giggled, “let a few drops out. It will be fun!”
But Puffy squeezed his eyes shut, crossed his cloudy arms, and held on tighter.
“No! My rain, my drops, mine!” he grumbled.
One warm afternoon, the wind pushed Puffy over a long, quiet valley.
Puffy peeped down through his fluffy belly. Something felt wrong.
The ground was cracked and dusty.
The little green frogs had no puddles to splash in.
And in the middle of the meadow, a tiny yellow flower drooped sadly, her petals bent like she was too tired to stand.
“Please, little cloud,” whispered the yellow flower. Her leaves rustled in the hot air. “Could you share just one tiny drop of water? I am so very thirsty.”
Puffy clutched his rainy tummy.
“No!” he huffed. “If I give you my rain, I will not be the biggest, fluffiest cloud anymore. Then what will I be? It is my rain!”
So Puffy floated there, holding all his heavy water inside.
The sun kept shining.
The earth stayed dry.
The frogs stayed hidden and quiet.
The little yellow flower sagged lower and lower.
Up in the sky, it was very silent. No other clouds came to play. The wind moved on. Puffy was alone, full of rain with no one to splash.
“Hmph,” Puffy muttered. “I have all this wonderful water and no one else gets any. That means I win, right?”
But it did not feel like winning.
He felt big.
He felt heavy.
He felt lonely.
Puffy glanced down again. The tiny yellow flower was barely standing now. One petal had fallen off.
Something soft and wiggly moved in the middle of Puffy’s misty heart.
Maybe one drop would not hurt, he thought. Just one. Just a teeny tiny one.
Very slowly, Puffy loosened his tight cloudy arms. He let one little raindrop roll to the edge.
Drip.
The drop tumbled out of Puffy’s fluffy side.
Plop!
It landed right on the yellow flower’s leaves.
At once, the flower straightened. She lifted her head. Her stem stretched tall and strong. Her yellow petals opened wide like a bright little sun.
“Oh! Thank you, little cloud!” she laughed. “That feels wonderful!”
Puffy blinked. Had his one small raindrop done all that?
Inside, that soft wiggly feeling grew warmer. It felt light. It felt sparkly. It felt happy.
Puffy tried another drop.
Drip. Plop.
The flower shivered with joy and shook her petals.
“This is amazing!” she sang.
Puffy started to giggle.
And when a cloud giggles, something very special happens.
Pitter.
Patter.
Pitter patter.
The giggles shook his raindrops loose.
Soon Puffy was laughing so hard that the rain came tumbling out of him in a joyful shower.
Splish, splash, splosh!
“Pfffft, that tickles!” the frogs cried, hopping out from under the rocks. They landed in new puddles and began to sing, “Ribbit! Ribbit!”
The dry ground drank the cool water with a happy sigh.
The brown cracks filled and softened.
Tiny green shoots peeked out.
Pop! A pink flower.
Pop! A blue flower.
Pop pop pop! A whole rainbow of flowers burst from the ground, swaying and dancing in the rainy breeze.
Birds fluttered back to the trees and began to sing.
The valley filled with splashes, croaks, chirps, and laughter.
Puffy looked down at all the jumping frogs, the dancing flowers, the sparkling puddles. The quiet valley had turned into a party.
When the rain finally slowed, Puffy glanced at his reflection in a shiny new pond.
He was not the biggest cloud anymore. He was a little smaller. He felt a lot lighter. Some of his fluff had floated away with the rain.
For a moment, Puffy worried.
“Am I still special?” he whispered.
Down below, the yellow flower waved her leaves.
“You shared your rain,” she called. “You woke up the whole valley. You made everything alive again. That is very special.”
The frogs splashed and shouted, “Thank you, Puffy!”
The birds sang a song that sounded a bit like, “Cloud friend, cloud friend, come again!”
Puffy’s heart filled right up, not with rain this time, but with something warmer.
He realised something magical.
Keeping everything to himself had made him heavy and lonely.
Letting go and sharing had made him light and full of friends.
From that day on, Puffy never hugged his raindrops quite so tightly.
Whenever he floated over a thirsty field, a dusty road, or a tired little town, he would smile his misty smile and say,
“Is anyone ready for a Puffy shower?”
Then he would let his rain tumble down in happy splashes, knowing that every drop he shared helped someone grow, play, or smile.
And high above all the laughter and splashing, Puffy drifted through the sky, not just the cloud who kept all his rain, but the cloud who made the world below feel alive.
