Pip Wants to Rain

Pip the little cloud wanted to rain on the garden before the school bell rang, because the sunflowers were drooping and thirsty.

But Pip was grey and tiny, and every time he squeezed, nothing came out. Not one drop.

"Oh," said Pip. He felt heavy and sad. He drifted down low, over a stream shallow enough to wade across barefoot.

A girl named Florence was wading there with her trainers tied round her neck. Her footprints glowed faintly on the wet stones, the way footprints always do for one hour. She was only crossing to get to school.

"You look glum," she said.

"I can't rain," said Pip. "I'm too small."

"Mm," said Florence, and kept splashing. She did not fix anything. She had a bell to beat.

Pip tried again. He puffed up big. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing.

Then he tried something different. He followed Florence's glowing footprints along the bank, one, two, three, and he giggled, because they looked like a trail of little lamps. A giggle shook him. Then another. His whole fluffy middle wobbled.

"Pip," said Florence, looking back. "You're bouncing."

He bounced higher. He bounced right over the sunflowers, and out of his tummy fell a plip.

Then a plip, plip.

Then plip, plip, plip!

"I'm raining!" cried Pip.

"You're laughing rain," said Florence, grinning.

Pip had thought rain came from squeezing. But it came from the wobble.

Down in the garden, the sunflowers lifted their heads. Far off, the school bell went ding-dong, ding-dong, and Florence ran, her glowing footprints shining behind her.

Pip kept on wobbling above the garden. Plip, plip, plip, went the rain on the big yellow petals, soft and steady, until every one of them was shining.