“Who makes clouds?”
“Cloudsmith.”
“Where does he live?”
“In a cave by the river.”
“How does he make clouds?”
“With the help of Wind.”
“Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know this?”
“Nobody has seen him. He only talks to the Earth.”
“Tell me more …”
The Earth was barren and upset with the ghastly silence that stalked her. Trees kept to themselves and wolves spared no one. A Cloudsmith sensed her plight but lent no words. His words, like his friends, were few but chosen.
So, to the Wind he went and spoke about solitude. What he said made little sense but the wind waited till the end. “What do you want to do?” asked Wind. “I want to make clouds, some white as joy and other dark like a doubt. They will be known as hope flying across the sky. When they bring rain, the Earth might smile.”
So, it was done as agreed. First, raindrops tickled the trees till they burst into laughter. When the dust washed away from them, leaves rejoiced. After lightning slaughtered the silence, it scared off the wolves. Wind, with all its might, shook Earth out of its sleep. As the Cloudsmith awaited his reward, a smile shied at him. He vanished into the clouds and drew a silver lining.