Night Time Story: The Little Cloud Who Wanted to Be a Star
High above the rolling hills, where the sky stretched wide and endless, floated a tiny cloud named Nimbus. Unlike the other clouds, who drifted lazily or gathered in great, powerful storms, Nimbus had a different dream.
“I want to be a star,” he whispered one evening as he gazed at the brilliant lights above. “They shine so brightly. They never change or fade. They must be the most important things in the sky.”
The bigger clouds chuckled. “You’re just a cloud,” they told him. “Clouds bring rain and shade. We are needed. Stars are far away and have nothing to do with us.”
But Nimbus wouldn’t listen. He stretched himself thinner, hoping to sparkle. He drifted higher and higher, trying to reach the stars. Yet no matter how much he tried, he remained just a small, soft cloud.
One night, the North Wind saw Nimbus struggling and stopped to watch. “Why do you wish to be a star, little one?” he asked.
“I want to shine. I want to be special,” Nimbus replied.
The North Wind thought for a moment. “Come with me,” he said.
Nimbus followed as the North Wind carried him far across the sky, over mountains and rivers, until they reached a dry, barren land below. The earth was cracked, the trees drooping with thirst.
“These lands need rain, but the clouds here are too heavy to move,” the North Wind explained.
Nimbus looked down. “I can help,” he said.
He gathered himself together, becoming thick and full. Then, with all his heart, he let go.
A soft rain began to fall, cooling the earth and bringing life back to the land. The rivers swelled, the plants stood tall, and the people rejoiced.
When Nimbus looked up, he gasped. The puddles below reflected the night sky, and in their waters, he saw himself—glowing just like a star.
The North Wind smiled. “You wished to shine, little cloud. And you have, in your own way.”
From that night on, Nimbus no longer tried to be a star in the sky. Instead, he became a star of the earth, bringing rain where it was needed most.
And in every clear puddle left behind, the stars twinkled back, as if they, too, had noticed.
By Marianne Willow
