The Weatherman

Clouds and rainbows shone and danced and shimmered as they played in their wonderland of azure skies and beautiful infinity. Everything was golden in this haven of eternity. Nothing was bad and nothing was wrong. It's hard to describe the sky when you're in it - actually in it. It's like trying to describe the world to somebody who doesn't exist.

He sat and gazed at the blanket sky, sighing in admiration of his creation. His kindly face, however, showed no expression other than the one it always wore, and that was of content. The clouds had always loved the Weatherman, and he had always enjoyed their company; for without them and the stars and the sun and moon, time would be a lot longer and lonelier for the man who lived forever.

The Weatherman, as he was known by to all in existence, was tall with soft features and happy eyes. He didn't have a proper name, because he wasn't a proper person, and so the Weatherman had had to do. He wore glasses, not because he needed them - his vision was so perfect he could see every single ecstatic face on every single snowflake - but because he liked them and the way that they looked. He reasoned that they made him look cleverer, though nobody ever saw him, and he was more clever than anyone else in existence. His hair was a soft, light grey and he fashioned a moustache on his upper lip, for when he had fashioned it in other places he had found it to look silly. He had once worn it on his shoe, and the clouds had laughed for years.

The rain was getting restless, and as much as he didn't like making the homo-sapiens (or humans as they had called themselves) unhappy, he didn't want the rain to feel under appreciated so he let the little droplets fly freely, singing their little song as they went.

The Weatherman couldn't sing. He often wished he could, but when he tried the grumpy rain clouds moaned at him for ruining their little darlings' beautiful voices. Today the rainclouds hadn't gone to watch their offspring on their trip down to Earth, and so he quietly sang to himself the song the raindrops always sang when they poured down from his sky.

Rain, rain, rain
Here we come again
Playing through your drain
Rain, oh rain, oh rain

Pitter patter, pitter patter
Chasing through the sky
Chitter chatter, splitter splatter
Good luck, my friends, goodbye

It always amazed him that the little droplets didn't mind that they would never again see their loved ones in that form. When questioned on the matter, they merely said that they would return as they evaporated, and so would once again see their families and friends.

Today was a very special day for the Weatherman as today was the first of May. This of course meant that the Sun had to shine and not a single droplet must escape from his precious blanket sky (because, as every child knows, the sky is not an expanse of space, but a huge blanket lain over heaven for the lethargic dragons to sleep upon).