Amelia and the Lantern Garden

Amelia was the smallest cloud in the sky, no bigger than a pillow. She was also the only cloud who floated low enough to brush the rooftops.

Every evening she drifted over the rooftop garden. Mr. Otto lit his paper lanterns there, one by one, like a row of little moons. Amelia loved them more than anything. Tonight she wanted to watch every one of them glow.

But today Amelia felt sad. She did not know why. It sat in her middle like a stone. And when Amelia was sad, she leaked.

Plip, plip, plip.

"Oh no," Amelia whispered. Rain would put out the lanterns.

She squeezed herself tight. Plip, plip. She puffed herself up big. Plip, plip, plip. She hummed a happy song, but it came out wobbly, and the drops fell faster.

Down in the garden, Mr. Otto shook his watering can upside down. Nothing came out.

"The tap is stuck," he told the tomato plants. "And you are so thirsty."

The tomato leaves hung down, tired and curled. Amelia looked at them. Then she looked at her own drops, falling wherever she floated.

Wherever she floated.

Slowly, slowly, Amelia drifted away from the lanterns. She stopped over the tomato pots. She tipped to one side, just a little.

Plip, plip, plip.

The leaves lifted, one at a time, as if they were waking up.

Then one big drop landed on Mr. Otto's nose.

"Ah-ah-ah-CHOO!"

His hat flew off and landed on a bean pole. Amelia giggled, and a few more drops came out, right on the beans.

Mr. Otto laughed and wiped his nose. Then he took out his matches and lit the lanterns. They glowed gold, one, two, three, all in a row, and not one of them went out.

Amelia hung above the tomatoes. The stone in her middle was smaller now, small as a pea. Under her, the rain went plip, plip, plip, soft on the leaves.