Grumpy Cloudlet: A Heartwarming Tale About Finding Joy in Helping Others

High up in the sky, among the white and fluffy clouds that looked like cotton candy, lived a little cloudlet named Cloudlet.

Cloudlet was round, gray, and grumpy. Always grumpy. Grumpy in the morning. Grumpy at noon. Even grumpier in the evening. And at night, he slept grumpily and dreamed grumpy things.

The other clouds knew him well.

— Good morning, Cloudlet! they would say when they woke up.

— Yeah, he’d answer.

— What a beautiful day!

— It’s not beautiful. It’s humid. And windy.

— But the sun is shining!

— It’s ruining my sleep.

And he’d turn around and think grumpy thoughts.

But Cloudlet became most grumpy whenever someone asked him to rain.

Raining was what clouds did. All clouds knew that. You’d fill yourself with water from the sea, the wind would carry you over fields and forests, and there you’d let the rain fall — pitter-patter-pitter — and the water would reach the flowers, the trees, the rivers, and all the creatures that needed it.

All clouds did this gladly.

All of them, except Cloudlet.

— Why should I rain? he’d say whenever someone asked him. Rain gets everything wet. Rain makes mud. Rain makes people open their umbrellas and look sad at the sky. I don’t want to make anyone sad.

— But flowers need water, the other clouds would tell him.

— Let them drink from the river.

— And the trees?

— Trees are big, they can manage.

— And people?

— People have water taps.

And Cloudlet would curl up into himself, grumpily, and wouldn’t rain.

On an extremely hot summer, Cloudlet was floating above the Meadow of Flowers — a wonderful place where thousands of flowers of all colors grew, from the forest’s edge to the horizon as far as the eye could see.

Or at least it had been like that before.

Now, the flowers were wilted. Their leaves hung sadly. The ground was dry and cracked, like a cake left too long in the oven. The sun beat down relentlessly from morning to evening, and it hadn’t rained for three weeks.

Cloudlet floated above and looked down.

— What an ugly sight, he muttered.

But just then, from below, he heard a thin and tired voice:

— Hey! You up there! Little cloud!

On a thin stem, bent nearly to the ground, stood a tiny Daisy, white with crumpled petals and yellowed leaves.

— You’re calling me? asked Cloudlet.

— You! said the Daisy. Please, couldn’t you rain just a little bit? Even just a little, enough to cool me down?

— No, said Cloudlet curtly.

— Why not?

— Because I don’t want to.

— But I’m dying of thirst!

— Drink from the river.

— The river is two kilometers away and I don’t have legs! said the Daisy.

Cloudlet thought for a moment.

— Fair point, he said. But I’m still not raining.

And he drifted on.

A bit further, he heard another voice. This time thicker and deeper.

— Hey! Cloudlet! Wait a moment!

It was an old Oak Tree, with a trunk as thick as three men and branches stretched toward the sky like pleading arms.

— What do you want? said Cloudlet.

— You haven’t rained for three weeks. My leaves are starting to dry up. My roots are searching for water and finding none.

— And?

— And I’m asking you to rain.

— No.

— Why?

— Because rain makes mud.

— Mud is good for roots! said the Oak.

— Fine, but I don’t want it to rain, said Cloudlet. I’ve decided.

— Who gave you the right to decide?

Cloudlet thought.

— I gave myself the right, he said, pleased with his answer, and drifted on.

Then he heard an angry buzzing.

— Little cloud! LITTLE CLOUD!

It was a tiny Bee — small, yellow and black, flying in furious circles around Cloudlet.

— I have nothing to gather! she said. The flowers are wilted, they have no nectar, I can’t make honey! My family will starve!

— Eat something else.

— We’re bees! We eat honey and nectar! We don’t eat sandwiches! said the Bee indignantly.

— Too bad, said Cloudlet.

— If it doesn’t rain, the flowers die. If the flowers die, there’s no nectar. If there’s no nectar, we don’t make honey. If there’s no honey…

— I understand the logic, said Cloudlet.

— And?

— And it’s still not going to rain.

The Bee made such an angry sound that Cloudlet hurried to drift further away.

But he didn’t drift far. Because he saw something that stopped him.

In the shade of the Oak — the only shadow left in the meadow — sat a tiny Hedgehog, with his snout on his paws, looking sadly at the dry field.

— Why are you sad? asked Cloudlet, not meaning to ask, but it just came out.

— Ah, a cloud. I won’t ask you to rain, said the Hedgehog. I’m sitting in the shade thinking about the mushrooms I used to eat. Mushrooms grow after rain, you know? And I really love mushrooms.

Cloudlet said nothing.

— And I was thinking about the river at the forest’s edge, continued the Hedgehog. Before, it was full. Now it’s almost dry. My friend Splash lives in the river. If the river dries up, she won’t have anywhere to live.

Cloudlet looked toward the river. Even from up there, he could see it was almost dry.

— Anyway, said the Hedgehog, getting up, I haven’t asked you for anything. Take care, little cloud.

And he went into the thicket beneath the oak.

Cloudlet remained in place.

He looked down at the meadow. At the wilted Daisy. At the Oak with its tired leaves. At the little Bee flying chaotically among the dry flowers. At the nearly dry river. And somewhere in that river, a little frog named Splash who had nowhere to live.

He felt strange inside. A small and unpleasant knot somewhere in the middle of him.

A little cheerful cloudlet, Sunny, drifted past him.

— Ah, Cloudlet! What are you doing?

— I feel strange. Like something’s not right. Like I should do something and I’m not doing it.

— That’s called guilt, she said simply. When you know you can help and you don’t, you feel guilty.

— But I don’t want to rain! said Cloudlet. Rain is… it’s…

He stopped.

— Why don’t you want to rain, actually? asked Sunny gently.

Cloudlet thought for a while.

— I don’t know, he said finally, in a smaller voice than usual. I said once that I didn’t want to and… I just kept saying it.

— But do you like to rain?

Cloudlet thought seriously. When he let the rain fall, he felt lighter. Like he was getting rid of something heavy. And after the rain, the earth smelled so beautiful — like fresh soil and grass and flowers.

— Maybe, he said half-heartedly.

— Then why don’t you rain?

Something changed in Cloudlet.

He took a deep breath.

And it rained.

First a little, shyly — pitter… patter… pitter…

Then more — pitter-patter-pitter-patter!

And then, properly — SPLASH-SPLASH-SPLASH! — a beautiful, warm summer rain, falling in big round drops and smelling like the beginning of life.

From below, he heard the Daisy:

— RAIIIN! Thank you, little cloud!

The Oak stretched its branches:

— Ahhh! Exactly what I needed!

The Bee flew in circles shouting something — Cloudlet couldn’t understand what, because she was flying too fast.

And the Hedgehog came out of his thicket, raised his snout to the sky, and let the rain wet him, with his eyes closed and a little hedgehog smile on his face.

Cloudlet looked at all of this.

And he felt something warm. Something good. Something that filled him and made him want to rain even more.

— What is this feeling? he whispered.

— That’s called joy, said Sunny. When you do something good for others, you feel good too.

Cloudlet paused for a moment.

— Is it better than being grumpy?

— What do you think?

— Yes, he said. Much better.

And he rained on. A long and good rain that filled the river, awakened the flowers, cooled the forest and meadow, and brought forth, in just a few days, the most beautiful mushrooms the Hedgehog had ever seen.

And Cloudlet stayed above the Meadow of Flowers for the rest of the summer. And he rained again. And again. And again.

Not because someone asked him. But because he liked it. Because after every rain, the meadow smelled beautiful, and the flowers stood up, and the Daisy would say “thank you,” and the Hedgehog would come out to eat mushrooms.

And Cloudlet was no longer grumpy.

Well, maybe sometimes. In the morning, when the sun bothered him.

But that’s another story.

The End.

And next time it rains and you’re at home, look out the window and think about all the flowers and trees and happy animals out there. Rain is a gift. Even if it does get you wet. 🌧️🌸