The Cloud That Learned to Stay Still

Nuvina was a small, impatient cloud. She passed over the orange groves without ever stopping.

“Come here!” called the trees. “We are thirsty.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” said Nuvina, but then she saw a hill, a bell tower, a boat, a butterfly, and changed direction.

She liked moving. Staying still seemed to her a sad thing.

One afternoon she arrived above an orange grove near the sea. The trees had shiny leaves, but the earth was dry. The little oranges were waiting for water.

“Just a moment,” said Nuvina.

She began to rain, but immediately became distracted. She saw a seagull and followed it. The rain fell half on the orange grove and half on the road.

The oranges remained thirsty.

From below, an old tree spoke.

“Nuvina, your water is good, but it arrives in pieces.”

“I do not know how to stay still.”

“Then try for three breaths.”

Nuvina stopped. Or at least she tried. The wind pulled her, the sun warmed her, her thoughts ran inside her.

First breath.

She looked at the trees.

Second breath.

She felt the earth.

Third breath.

She let a thin rain fall, exactly on the roots.

The orange grove gave a green sigh.

Nuvina was surprised. Staying still was not emptiness. It was listening better.

The next day she returned. This time she stayed for five breaths. Then for seven. She discovered that, when she did not run away at once, she saw details that were invisible while rushing: a lizard under a stone, an ant drinking a drop, a new leaf.

One evening a strong wind tried to carry her away.

“Come on, there is the sea!”

Nuvina looked at the oranges and the earth.

“Later. First I finish here.”

She stayed still long enough to water the whole grove. Then she let herself be carried toward the sea, light and content.

From then on, Nuvina still travelled. Clouds are made to move. But she learned to stop when someone needed her.

And she understood that self-control is not keeping all your water closed inside. It is choosing where to let it fall.