A soft white cloud drifted across the sky, carried gently by the wind. She moved over mountains, forests, and seas — but always, she looked back.
One day, she floated over a small garden nestled between two hills.
It was not a grand garden. Just a patch of green with a little stream, a few wildflowers, and a wooden bench. But as she passed over it, the cloud felt a quiet pull — a soft hum of belonging.
She wanted to stay.
The wind nudged her. “Keep moving,” it whispered. “Clouds are meant to drift.”
But she lingered. She let herself slow down, and for the first time, she stayed still above the garden.
She watched a child chase a butterfly. She saw an old man sit on the bench and close his eyes. She watched the flowers sway in the breeze, as if they were waving at her.
“I could water them,” she thought. “I could rest here. I could watch over this little garden.”
She did not drift away.
Instead, she gently let a few soft raindrops fall — just enough to make the flowers lift their heads and thank her.
She did this every day.
And over time, the garden began to remember her. The flowers grew brighter, the stream sang a little louder, and the child looked up and said:
“Look, Mama — the cloud has chosen us.”
The cloud did not need to drift anymore. She had found her place — not by floating away, but by staying.
Do you see the cloud, little one? She is still there, above the garden. And she stays — because she loves it.
She is part of the garden now. And the garden is part of her.
The End