Le petit nuage qui pleurait
Dear children. I am taking my pen to tell you a story about the little white cloud that cried.
He was a little white cloud who lived in seventh heaven (without an elevator) with his parents, the Cumulus’.
The little cloud carried the sweet name of Cirro. The Cumulus family lived above a charming country village that was quiet and always had beautiful weather. The little cloud grew up and played nicely near his family. He played leap-frog with his brothers and sisters. He played with the winds. He tanned himself in the rays of the sun and caressed the feathers of his friends, the birds who gave him fresh wind with their wings. Sometimes he hung on their feathers and let them pull him along but they got annoyed with him.
“Oh Cirro,” they’d say, “You can’t fly.” And they’d flap him away.
During the evenings when the sun set, his mother would put him gently in the arms of a crescent moon who rocked him to sleep while singing “Au Clair de La Lune”.
Everyday, Cirro went down a little lower towards the the earth to admire the sunny village and to watch the children who were playing. He was surprised to learn they had the same games has he and his friends. They laughed and jumped in the sun, and in the evening they fell asleep in their beds, caressed by the silver light of the moon.
Cirro’s parents protected his happiness and they lived in a serene sky. Cirro was nice and kind and his mother promised him that when he grew up he could be anything he wanted…even a halo around the highest mountain. It was Cirro’s supreme wish.
Everything was going well in cirro’s life.
Once day, however, while the family was sitting around the table drinking their goblets of fresh air, they heard a terrible rumble. A deafening noise that ripped through the sky like an angry cry. Papa Cumulus had just enough time to protect his little family by making a barrier of himself as the big rigid bird with menacing wings and a long nose, tore through the sky. This bird continued his course overhead and left behind him a long trail of smoke
“ What is that strange bird,Papa,” asked Cirro.
“The sky is my witness, it is an airplane,” said Papa Cumulus.
Cirro asked a lot of questions and learned a lot of things too. He learned that planes are big birds created by man. They take long journeys, they carry people and children and sometimes animals inside them, and fly to all the countries of the world. These birds have seen volcanoes and mountains and the most beautiful places on earth.
From that day forward, Cirro knew he wanted to travel. He studied the map of the sky that he received form Orion on his first birthday and everyday he asked his parents when he would see another plane. His mother explained that it was dangerous for a young cloud to go near an airplane.
“You could be hurt, and lose a lot of water” said Mama Cumulus. “This can be fatal for a cloud full of water.”
Cirro didn’t hear a thing. He was too busy dreaming. And there is nothing dreamier than a stubborn little cumulus cloud. He dreamt of attaching himself to the wings of the planes and discovering for himself the big wide world. So, that’s exactly what he prepared to do…
The day arrived when Cirro again heard the roar of the rigid bird. And as it passed overhead, Cirro jumped. He grabbed the wing but the plane was too quick, and Cirro rolled and tumbled along the featherless body and scratched his tummy. He tried to grab the tail of the bird but the burning whistle from the back of the singed Cirro and hurled him into the arms of his father who took him home.
Cirro was very hurt. He had lost a lot of water (and pride)...
If you want to know next chapter of the story, let me know.
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