Nimbus's Rainbow Promise

Nimbus drifted, a fluffy white puff against the vast azure canvas. Yesterday’s playful shapes had faded, leaving a familiar ache in his cloudy heart. He watched the other clouds, plump and grey, releasing gentle showers onto the emerald fields below. A sigh, soft as mist, escaped him. He wanted to rain, oh, how he wanted to rain! He imagined the happy pitter-patter, the earth drinking greedily, the flowers lifting their sleepy heads in gratitude. But his insides remained stubbornly dry, his form stubbornly light.

He’d tried everything, hadn’t he? He’d puffed himself up as big as he could, hoping to squeeze out a single drop. He’d jostled with the other clouds, nudging them, hoping some of their rainy magic would rub off. He’d even tried tickling himself with a stray breeze, thinking maybe a good laugh would loosen something up. Nothing. Not a single, solitary raindrop. He felt like a kite with no string, a song with no melody, a cloud with no cloud-iness.

The Old Sunbeam, a gentle shimmer of golden light, found Nimbus moping near the edge of the sky. The sunbeam had a way of finding those who felt lost, a warm, silent presence that offered comfort without words. “Still feeling a bit… un-rained upon, little one?” the sunbeam’s voice was like warm honey, smooth and reassuring.