The Girl Who Watered the Clouds

On the terrace, between basil pots and warm tiles, Elena had a small green watering can.

Every evening she watered the plants carefully: a little for the basil, a little for the geranium, a little for the mint that always seemed thirsty.

One night she lifted the watering can and a drop fell upward.

Elena blinked.

Another drop rose into the sky.

The drops gathered above the terrace and became a tiny pink cloud.

“Did I do that?”

The watering can made a bright plin.

Elena watered again, this time very gently. More drops rose. The pink cloud grew a soft edge, then a round belly, then a little tail like a sleeping fish.

Her brother laughed. “It is only imagination.”

The cloud trembled and became smaller.

Elena frowned. “Imagination is not only.”

She took care of the cloud as she did with the basil. Not too much water. Not too little. A quiet look. A name.

“I will call you Rosa.”

The cloud brightened.

In the following days Elena discovered that imagined things needed attention. If she ignored them completely, they faded. If she forced them, they became heavy. If she cared for them with play and patience, they changed shape beautifully.

Rosa became a ship, then a sheep, then a castle with soft towers. Sometimes Elena told stories under it. Sometimes she simply watched.

One evening her brother came back.

“Can I water one too?”

Elena handed him the watering can. “Slowly. Clouds do not like being commanded.”

He poured one careful drop upward. A small orange cloud appeared.

The terrace filled with quiet laughter.

And Elena learned that imagination is like a plant of the sky: it grows when someone gives it time, care, and permission to be strange.