Clouds Stories for Kids

High up in the sky, where the wind blew soft and slow, lived a little cloud named Nimbus. Nimbus was the smallest cloud in the whole sky. All around him, the big gray clouds rolled by, fat and full and very important looking. Why am I so small? Nimbus sighed. Nobody ever points at me. The big clouds laughed as they drifted past. Move over, little puff, one rumbled. We have rain to carry. Nimbus floated alone and felt invisible. One sunny afternoon, a little girl named June lay in the grass, watching the sky. Her mother sat beside her. What do you see up there? her mother asked. June squinted. I see a bunny, she said, pointing. Right there. Look at its fluffy ears and its little round tail. Her mother looked up. The bunny was Nimbus. All by himself, the little cloud had drifted into the exact shape of a rabbit, with two puffs for ears and a round puff for a tail. Nimbus heard June and puffed out his chest. She is pointing at me, he whispered. She sees a bunny in me! June smiled. It is the prettiest bunny cloud I have ever seen. Nimbus felt warm all over. He did not need to be big or gray or full of rain. He just needed to be himself. The big clouds drifted by and looked surprised, but Nimbus did not care. Maybe being small is not so bad, Nimbus said. It is just right for making bunny ears. And from that day on, Nimbus loved being little, because little clouds can make the very best shapes.

Every summer, June went to stay at her grandpa's house, and every summer, they did the same wonderful thing. On warm afternoons, they spread a big blanket on the grass, looked up at the sky, and watched the clouds. What do you see today? Grandpa asked. June pointed at a long, thin cloud. That one looks like a trumpet. And that one, Grandpa said, pointing at a round cloud with a wispy tail, is a drum. Boom, boom, boom. Soon the whole sky was a parade. A cloud shaped like an elephant marched by, its trunk held high. A cloud like a horse pranced behind it. June and Grandpa made the sounds with their mouths, and they laughed until their bellies hurt. Here comes the leader, June said, pointing at a tall cloud with a little puff on top that looked like a hat. He is waving his baton. Grandpa waved his hand in the air like a conductor. Da da da dum, he sang, and June joined in. The parade drifted across the sky, slow and grand, until the sun began to set and turned every cloud pink and gold. That was the best parade I have ever seen, June said. Grandpa smiled. And we did not buy a single ticket. June looked up at the fading clouds. The sky gives us a new show every day, she said. We just have to remember to look up. And to use our imaginations, Grandpa said. That night, June fell asleep still hearing the imaginary drums. She learned that you do not need a stage or a band to have a parade. All you need is a blanket, a grandpa, and a sky full of clouds.

Inside a big gray cloud, high above the earth, lived a tiny raindrop named Drip. Drip was safe and cozy, nestled among a hundred other raindrops, and he never wanted to leave. What if I fall and get lost? Drip asked the older raindrops. You will not get lost, they said. You will land exactly where you are needed. But Drip was not so sure. Every time the cloud got heavy, he held on tight. Not me, he whispered. I am staying right here. Down below, a little garden was very thirsty. The flowers drooped, and the green leaves curled up. The garden looked up at the big gray cloud and waited. Drip peeked over the edge of the cloud and saw the dry, dusty garden. They need me, he said softly. But I am so scared to fall. Close your eyes, said a kind old raindrop. Fall with me. We will go together. Drip held the old raindrop's hand. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let go. Down, down, down he fell, the wind rushing past. It was scary and fast, and Drip squeezed his eyes shut. Then, plip. He landed on a soft green leaf and rolled onto a tiny pink flower. The flower opened up. Oh, thank you, it whispered. I was so thirsty. Drip opened his eyes and smiled. He had not gotten lost at all. He had landed exactly where he was needed. Falling was not the end, Drip said. It was the start of something growing. And high above, the cloud was already making new raindrops, ready for the next thirsty garden.

Grumble was a big, gray storm cloud, and he loved to make noise. BOOM, he thundered. CRASH, he boomed. He rolled across the sky, shaking the trees and scaring the little animals down below. Why is everyone running from me? Grumble wondered. But he was too busy thundering to ask. One day, a tiny bluebird flew up to him. The wind was rough, but the bird fluttered right up to Grumble's edge. Excuse me, the bluebird said. Could you please not thunder so loud? My babies are trying to sleep in their nest. Grumble stopped, surprised. Nobody had ever talked to him so nicely. Your babies? he said. Three of them, the bluebird said. They are very small, and loud noises scare them. Grumble looked down and saw the little nest, with three tiny beaks poking up. They were shaking. Grumble felt something he had never felt before: sorry. I did not mean to scare them, he said quietly. Then maybe you could try a gentle rain instead, the bluebird said. A soft shower helps the flowers grow, and it makes a lovely sound on the leaves. Grumble thought about it. Slowly, he let go of his thunder and tried a light, soft rain. Pit, pat, pit, pat. The little birds peeked out and chirped with joy. The flowers drank it up. The whole forest smelled fresh and sweet. This is nice, Grumble said. Gentle feels good. Gentle is a kind of strong all its own, the bluebird said. From then on, Grumble still grumbled a little now and then, but he saved his thunder for far away, and he learned that a soft rain could make friends, while a loud storm only made them run.

Leo was sick in bed, and he was very sad. The sun was shining outside, and he could not go out to play. He could not even see his favorite green hill from his window. I wish I could see the hill, Leo said to his mother. His mother handed him a piece of paper. Why don't you write your wish down and send it into the sky? she said. Leo wrote his wish in big letters: I wish I could see the green hill. Then he folded the paper into a little boat and put it on the windowsill. That afternoon, a soft wind came and lifted the paper boat up, up, up, until a small cloud caught it. The cloud was gentle and kind, and it read the wish. A child wants to see his green hill, the cloud said. I can help with that. The little cloud drifted across town, carrying the paper wish, until it reached the hill. There, the cloud dropped a soft, light rain over the grass, and the hill turned the brightest, greenest green you ever saw. Then the cloud floated back to Leo's window and rained a few soft drops, just enough to make a small rainbow. Leo! Look! his mother said. Leo sat up and looked out the window. There, right where the cloud had been, was a tiny rainbow, and beyond it, he could just see his green hill, glowing in the afternoon sun. The sky carried my wish, Leo whispered. And it came true. Wishes travel far, his mother said, when you send them with a hopeful heart. Leo smiled and watched the cloud drift away, knowing that somewhere, a wish of his own was already on its way.

There was a big gray cloud named Gumbo. He was wide and tall and very proud of it. He thought the whole sky should belong to him. "Move over, little clouds," Gumbo said. "I need room." The small white clouds drifted away. "There is plenty of sky," they said softly. "We can all fit." "I want it all," said Gumbo. He stretched and puffed until he filled the whole sky. The little clouds had to go far, far away. At first Gumbo was happy. The whole sky was his. But soon he felt strange. The sky was empty and quiet. There was no one to talk to. There were no soft white shapes drifting past. "Hello?" Gumbo called. Nobody answered. He saw the little clouds far away, playing together. They made shapes. One looked like a bunny. One looked like a boat. They laughed and floated together. Gumbo felt lonely. He puffed himself smaller and drifted over to them. "I am sorry I chased you away," Gumbo said. "The sky is too big for just one cloud. Will you share it with me?" The little clouds looked at each other. Then the smallest one floated up to Gumbo. "Of course," it said. "There is room for all of us." Gumbo shrank a little more and made room. The little clouds drifted back. Now the sky was full of clouds, big and small, gray and white. "This is much better," said Gumbo. "The sky is more beautiful when we share it." And from that day on, Gumbo never chased another cloud away.

Nina had just moved to a new town. She did not know anyone yet. Every day she sat in her yard and watched the sky. One afternoon she saw a cloud that looked like a soft white puppy. It was right above her house. She waved at it. The cloud seemed to wiggle. "Hello up there," Nina said. "I will call you Fluffy." The next day, Fluffy was there again. It floated right above Nina's yard. "You came back!" Nina said. She told Fluffy about her new room and her new school. Fluffy did not answer with words, but it drifted a little closer, as if it was listening. Every day, Nina talked to Fluffy. She told the cloud about the girl she was too shy to talk to, and about missing her old friends. Fluffy always stayed close, drifting and changing shape. One day Fluffy looked like a boat. Then it looked like a heart. Nina laughed. "You are the best friend ever," she said. A girl from next door came over. "Who are you talking to?" she asked. "My cloud," said Nina. "His name is Fluffy." The girl looked up and smiled. "I see him! He looks like a puppy." "Do you want to watch him with me?" Nina asked. So the two girls sat in the grass and watched Fluffy drift across the sky. They talked and laughed until the sun went down. Nina had found a real friend too. And Fluffy floated above them the whole time, soft and white, like he was smiling.

Puff was a small, soft, white cloud. He floated high in the sky and watched the big storm clouds roll in. They were dark and loud. They rumbled and flashed and made everyone look up. "I want to be a storm cloud," Puff said. "Then everyone will notice me." So Puff tried to be scary. He puffed up and turned a little gray. "Rumble, rumble," he growled. But his growl came out like a tiny hiccup. He tried to make lightning. He wiggled and jiggled, but only a little spark of fuzz came out. "This is hard," Puff sighed. A little girl named Ella was in a field below. She looked up and pointed. "What a soft, pretty cloud," she said. "It looks so gentle." Puff frowned. "Gentle is boring," he said. "I want to be loud and strong." Just then, a real storm cloud rolled over. It was big and dark and angry. It rumbled so hard the ground shook. Rain poured down. Ella ran for cover. The storm was so loud and wet that no one wanted to be near it. The storm cloud was important, but it was also scary. When the storm passed, Puff drifted back out. The sun came back too. Puff's soft white shape gave the field a little shade. Ella came out and smiled. "Thank you, little cloud," she said. "Your shade is just right." Puff smiled. He was not loud or scary. But he was soft and helpful and kind. And that was important too.

A little cloud was born over a small red house in a green valley. It floated up from the chimney smoke and the morning mist. From up high, it could see its red house below. "That is my home," the cloud said. But the wind began to blow. It pushed the cloud away from the valley. Over hills it went, and over wide fields. It saw rivers that sparkled like silver thread. It saw forests so green they looked like soft moss. The cloud saw the sea. Big ships floated below like toys in a bath. The cloud saw tall cities with lights that blinked at night. "The world is so big and beautiful," the cloud said. It felt happy to see so much. But as the days passed, the cloud began to miss its little red house. It missed the green valley and the morning mist. It missed being small and close to home. "I want to go back," the cloud said to the wind. "Will you carry me home?" The wind turned around and blew the other way. The cloud drifted back over the sea, back over the fields and hills. At last it saw the green valley below. And there, small and red, was its little house. The cloud floated down and rested over the roof. It was home. "I saw the whole wide world," the cloud said. "And it was wonderful. But the best part was coming home." The red house sat warm below, and the cloud drifted softly above it, exactly where it belonged.

Two small clouds floated side by side. One was named Dot and the other was named Dash. They loved to make shapes in the sky. "Watch this," said Dot. She puffed up and tried to make a cat. But her cat had no head and only one leg. "That looks like a bumpy sock," said Dash, and he laughed. "Well, you try," said Dot. Dash puffed up and tried to make a boat. But his boat had no bottom. It looked like a floating hat. The children in the field below looked up. "What is that?" one asked. "A lumpy cloud?" Dot and Dash felt sad. "Our shapes are too small," said Dot. "They look silly." "Maybe we should try together," said Dash. So Dot and Dash drifted close. They touched and joined into one bigger cloud. "Now," said Dash, "let us make a big shape." They stretched this way and that. Dot made the long body. Dash made the long neck. Together they made a big, tall giraffe with a long neck and little ears. The children below pointed and cheered. "Look! A giraffe cloud!" they shouted. "It is huge!" Dot and Dash glowed with pride. "We did it," said Dot. "We could not do it alone," said Dash. "But together we made something big and wonderful." The big giraffe cloud drifted across the sky, and the children ran along under it, laughing all the way. Dot and Dash stayed together for the rest of the day, making new shapes for their new friends.

Every night, a small cloud floated over the sleeping city. The streets were quiet. The windows were dark. Everyone was asleep. "There is nothing to do at night," the cloud sighed. "The day clouds get to play in the sun and make shadows. I just drift here alone." The moon heard the cloud. "You are not doing nothing," said the moon. "You are watching over the city while it sleeps." "That is not a real job," said the cloud. "Let me show you," said the moon. "Look down." The cloud looked down. In one dark park, a little boy could not sleep. He looked out his window at the sky. He saw the cloud drifting past the moon and smiled. "The cloud is watching over us," he whispered. He felt safe and fell asleep. Then a few raindrops began to gather inside the cloud. Softly, it let them fall on the thirsty plants in the window boxes. The little flowers drank them up. "I did not know I was helping," the cloud said. "You are," said the moon. "You keep me company too. The night is less lonely with you here." The cloud drifted on, slow and soft, over the quiet city. It watched the houses and the parks and the sleeping people. It caught tiny drops of mist and held them gently. "I do have a job," the cloud said at last. "I am the night watcher. And it is a good job." The city slept on, safe under the cloud's soft, quiet watch.

A little cloud felt heavy. It was not a happy, puffy cloud anymore. It felt full and gray and tired, and it did not know why. "What is wrong with me?" the little cloud asked. An old cloud drifted near. "You are holding in your rain," the old cloud said. "You are sad, and you are trying to keep it all inside." "But I do not want to rain," said the little cloud. "I do not want to make a fuss." "Crying is not a fuss," said the old cloud. "When we hold our rain in, we get heavier and grayer. When we let it out, we feel light again." The little cloud thought about this. "But what if I rain too much?" "You will rain just enough," said the old cloud. "And after the rain, the sky will be clean." The little cloud took a deep breath. It let go. Soft rain fell from it, gentle and steady. It rained on the grass and the flowers and the rooftops. It rained and rained until it felt lighter. When it was done, the little cloud was small and white again. The sun came out. A rainbow stretched across the sky. "I feel better," the little cloud said. "I was holding in all that rain, and it made me heavy." "Of course," said the old cloud. "Tears are just rain for your heart. Let them out, and the sky clears." The little cloud floated on, light and clean and free at last.