The Creation of Clouds

A farmer lived amongst their fields of cotton, as white as bone. Burned of all colour by the sun a long time ago. Every night, the dew would emerge from the shelter of the forests and come offer itself to the struggling, brittle plants. But before the cotton could fully absorb the moisture the sun would rise. When it rose, it would breathe out across all the land and burn away all the precious dew from the night. The plants shriveled and most died before they were ready to be picked.
The farmer grew tired of losing their crop every year to the murderous sun. So one night they snuck out into their fields, with the dew emerging from the forest by their side, and plucked the premature cotton from the fields. They stole away back into their home as quick as they could so the sun did not see them. Once inside, the farmer blew gently on the tiny wisps of cotton to see if it was still living. They stuffed the soft material under their straw pallet to keep the sun from noticing.
The sky grew pink and the sun climbed the horizon, searching the land to make sure all was well. It saw nothing of consequence and inhaled to scorch the land once more. But the farmer rushed from their home and hurled the bits of cotton into the sky in a desperate attempt to cover the sun. By some miracle, the cotton grew as it flew high, high into the sky, higher than the farmer could possibly have thrown. They grew to blanket the entire field and even beyond to the neighbouring trees and valley.
The sun was enraged and blew with all its strength against the fluffy barrier before it. But though it forced all its withering heat down on the swollen plant before it, all it managed to do was dispel the white blanket. It was left breathless after the onslaught, and knew it would have to wait until the next day when it would have the strength again to burn the ground.
The farmer jumped and danced merrily at this. Their crops were saved! Already they could see the wisps of cotton floating back across the sky, gathering themselves protectively over the field. Oh, glorious day! The farmer stared up at the fluffy masses in the sky. These wondrous protectors deserve a new name, surely, they thought. How about… clouds? Yes, they though, that will do finely.
Free from the fear of being chased away, the dew rushed from the dark protection of the forest and leapt to the clouds high above. Suddenly they swelled and the sky grew dark. What was this? The farmer felt a small pang of fear at the sudden rumbling of the sky. But it was merely the cotton’s joy at being reunited with its nightly saviour. For, just as the cotton had grown when it became clouds, the dew had grown as it leapt into the sky. It began to fall softly in large droplets upon the ground. The plants sang and cheered with joy at the cool relief from their constant pain. This new dew needs a new name, too, thought the farmer. How about… rain?
The farmer ran to all their neighbours that day, telling them all what to do. They must pick cotton, then put it under their beds to hide it from the sun, and then, just before it is to breathe across the land, throw it all up into the sky- and to not be afraid of the thundering sky.
These farmers created their own clouds, and ran to their neighbours to tell them the wondrous new secret to protect their crops. Soon clouds grew to spread across all the land, and they brought with them the rain they could carry from mountaintops and forest canopies. Though everyday the sun attempts to burn them away, some remain, dutifully reforming to protect the world. Then, every night, they swell with the dew that dares leap to their arms. You can still hear the two, little ones, when the dew and the cotton reunite, when the sky thunders.

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