Pip, the Rain Cloud

On Tuesday morning, Elsie found a cloud sitting on the garden wall. It was small and grey, about the size of a loaf of bread. It was dripping.

"Hello," said Elsie. "Are you lost?"

"I'm Pip," said the cloud, in a wobbly voice. "I'm meant to be up there with the others. They're making a big white sheep for the sun to see. But I'm too grey. I don't fit."

A drip fell off Pip and landed on Elsie's trainer. Plink.

Elsie wanted to help. She had promised Gran she would water the sunflowers before breakfast, and the watering can was empty. But first, Pip.

"Let's make you white," she said. She rubbed Pip with a clean sock. Pip came out greyer and sock-shaped.

"Let's make you fluffy, then," said Elsie. She puffed and puffed at Pip. Pip rolled right off the wall into the flower bed and said, "Oof."

Pip sniffled. More drips came. Plink, plink, plink.

Elsie looked at the bed. The dry soil was drinking every drop. And the sunflowers were standing up a little straighter.

"Pip," she said slowly. "Can you do that again?"

"Do what?"

"Be sad. Just a little. Right over here."

Pip wobbled up and floated over the sunflowers. He thought about his sheep, and how he didn't fit. Out came the rain. Plink, plink, plink, pitter-pat, all down the green stalks and into the empty watering can, which went ting, ting, ting.

Up in the sky, the big cloud sheep had a small, round hole where its tummy should be.

"Look," said Elsie, pointing. "They need a grey bit for the shadow."

Pip looked up. Then he looked down at the full watering can, and the shining sunflowers, and Elsie with her wet trainers.

"I'm not sad now," said Pip.

"Good," said Elsie. "Because the sunflowers aren't finished."

So Pip stayed, and the last drops fell, plink, plink, plink, until the whole garden smelled of rain and the sunflowers were nodding.