The Cloud Who Could Only Make Socks

On the first warm day of summer, the clouds over Long Hill held their shape contest.

A long gray cloud could make a whale. A fat round cloud could make a teapot, with a spout. Big Billow, who was the biggest cloud in the whole sky, could make a castle with seven towers. Big Billow won the contest every year.

Puff was the smallest cloud of all. He was round and new, and he wanted to win more than anything.

The prize was to turn gold first when the sun went down.

“This year,” said Puff, “I am going to make a horse.”

Down on Long Hill, the children lay on their backs in the grass to judge. Whichever cloud the children pointed at most was the winner.

Alfie lay right in the middle. He had one red sock on and one bare foot. He had lost his other red sock a whole week ago. He had looked under his bed and in the bath and in the dog’s basket. His favorite sock was nowhere. It had a hole in the toe, just right for his big toe to poke through.

“Begin!” said Big Billow.

The gray cloud made a whale. The children pointed. The round cloud made a teapot. The children pointed. Then Big Billow puffed himself up and up and up, and he made his castle.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, SEVEN towers,” said Big Billow.

“Ooooh,” said the children, and they all pointed at once.

Then it was Puff’s turn. He thought very hard about a horse. Four legs. A long tail. A swishy mane.

Puff squeezed and puffed and pushed with all his might.

And out came a sock.

It was a very good sock. It had a heel and a toe. But it was not a horse.

On the hill, nobody pointed. One little girl yawned.

“Lovely sock, Puff,” said Big Billow. “Very woolly.”

“Thank you,” said Puff. “It was meant to be a horse.”

He tried again. This time he thought about a ship. A tall mast. A big white sail. Little round windows.

Puff squeezed and puffed and pushed with all his might.

And out came a sock.

“Another sock,” said the whale cloud.

“I know,” said Puff, and he went a little gray at the edges.

Puff had one more try. He thought about the grandest thing he knew. A crown for a king, with five tall points.

Puff squeezed and puffed and pushed with all his might. He pushed so hard he went pink.

And out came a sock.

Just then a goose flew over Long Hill. Honk, honk! The goose was not looking where it was going. It flew straight into the toe of Puff’s sock and straight out the other side.

“That tickles,” said Puff.

Now the sock had a hole in the toe.

Down on the hill, Alfie sat up. He pointed at the sky.

“My sock!” said Alfie. “That’s my sock! It’s got the hole and everything!”

Then he laughed so hard he fell back and waved his bare foot in the air. The girl next to him laughed too. Soon every child on Long Hill was laughing and pointing at Puff. Some of them pulled off a sock and waved it up at him.

Up in the sky, Big Billow laughed so hard that his seventh tower wobbled and went flop.

“Well,” said Big Billow. “That is the most pointing I have ever seen.”

Puff laughed too. He laughed so hard his sock wiggled.

Puff had won. He went pink all over, the happy kind of pink.

* * *

The sun went low and orange over Long Hill. It was time for the prize.

Puff was meant to turn gold first, all by himself. He looked at Big Billow, with six towers and one flop. Big Billow had always been first. Now he was being very quiet.

“Come here,” said Puff. “All of you. Nobody wants a sock on its own.”

So the whale cloud floated close. The teapot cloud floated close. And Big Billow tucked in right beside Puff, big and soft as a pillow.

The sun could not tell where Puff stopped and Big Billow began. So it turned them all gold at once.

On the hill, the children said “Ooooh,” and pointed at every single one.

* * *

That night, Mom made Alfie some toast before bed. She opened the bread bin. There, curled up next to the loaf, was a red sock with a hole in the toe.

“Alfie,” said Mom. “Is this yours?”

“My sock!” said Alfie.

Nobody knew how it had got into the bread bin. It smelled a little bit of toast. Alfie looked out of the window at Puff. He thought Puff might know. Mom shook out the crumbs. Alfie put the sock on, and his big toe poked through the hole just right.

“Welcome home, sock,” said Mom, and she tucked him in.

“Me too,” said Alfie.

Outside his window, the sky had gone soft and blue. Puff was floating over the roof. He was white again, and sleepy.

This time Puff did not squeeze. He did not puff. He did not push. He just stretched out long and soft.

And he was a sock, of course. The biggest, sleepiest sock in the whole sky.

“Goodnight, sock cloud,” said Alfie.

Then he wiggled his toes, one red sock on each foot. And he fell fast asleep, with Puff soft and still over the roof all night long.