Up above the big grey bridge.
The bridge wonders why the cloud is there,
Day after day, blocking the sunlight on its way.
“Little white cloud, can you please move?” asks the bridge.
But the cloud is shy and doesn’t want to move.
So the bridge tells the little puffy cloud:
“If you stay on the way of the sun
I will keep being covered in snow and ice
And the cars will not be able to drive on me.
Please, little cloud, you need to move.”
But once again the cloud remains silent,
Scared to move away from the big grey bridge
Because the bridge is the only company she has.
Finally the white cloud tells the bridge:
“I cannot move from here,
I cannot move away from your side,
If I move I will be alone in this wide open sky
So far away from the city down there.”
“But if you move away
You will be able to get closer to the city
That now you can only see from the sky,”
The big grey bridge tells the cloud.
“But then who will be my bridge, my friend?” asks the cloud.
“Well I’m sure you will find lots of new things
And you will make more friends.”
The white puffy cloud sighs when she imagines
How it would be to descend towards the city
And discover everything she always sees from a distance.
“You need to become rain
To reach the flowers that grow in gardens,
And become part of a crystalline river,
Quench the thirst of the goldfinch that sings every morning,
Be the caress on the dumped nose of a dog and
Be held by a child’s hand reaching for the rain for the first time.”
Another sighs, even deeper and full of hope,
Makes the cloud feel her cheeks wet
And from the little drops well up more drops and
Soon, those drops slide down the wrinkles
Of the little cloud
Until they fall like soft, warm rain
Over the bridge and down to the city.
Now the sun can reach the bridge
And melt the ice
So the cars are able to cross to the other side
Of the big grey bridge.
The little cloud becomes rain and discovers the flowers,
Caresses the faces of those who walk in the rain,
Feed trees and birds
And gives water to the earth.
The little puffy cloud tells the bridge that the earth
Has a different fragrance than the sky,
That flowers, herbs and fruits grow in the earth
And that the same birds who fly over the bridge
Find branches and leaves on the ground
To build their nests.
The big bridge listens to the stories
And shines under the sun,
Its grey shades get brighter, almost silver color,
Undulating with the colors of the rainbow.