Clouds love beauty. They glide over the world, taking in the grace of mountains, deserts, forests, cities, oceans, and countless other landscapes. So taken are they with these things, that they often gather to talk about them, and become so emotional that they weep tears of joy as they tell their friends of the things they’ve seen.
Kira was one such cloud, and she spent a great deal of time hovering over the house of Giancarlo, who loved to paint landscapes. Day after day she would see Giancarlo outside, filling his easel with the sights before him. It often rained the day after Giancarlo finished one of his paintings, because Kira was quite overcome with happiness.
Kira was, in fact, so taken with Giancarlo’s artwork that put on her best outfit in the hopes that Giancarlo would turn his attention to the sky, and try his hand at portraiture. When Giancarlo saw Kira, with the light filtering through her hair, he was immediately inspired, and for several hours, Kira stayed perfectly still, unmoving even as her friends rode the wind currents across the sky. When he finished, it was as if there were two Kiras, one in the sky, and one forever preserved on the canvas.
Yet for many days afterward, it rained. At first Giancarlo was touched by Kira’s sincere emotional praise of his work, but after a week, he grew concerned. Finally, he put on a raincoat, opened his umbrella, stepped outside, and asked Kira why she continued to weep.
“Oh, my dearest Giancarlo,” said Kira, “you create such beauty, and though I weep with joy when I see it, I also weep with sorrow. I so wish that I could share the things I’ve seen the way you can. Alas, though, I have no ability, and even if I did, I have no paint.”
“Nonsense,” said Giancarlo, stepping into his balloon—which he kept handy for occasions such as this—and loosing it from its moorings. “Now then, my dear Kira, dry your eyes. You have an artist’s soul, and an artist heart, and the only reason you do not paint is because no one has taught you.”
As Giancarlo handed Kira a brush the sun once again shone in the sky, and he pointed to the rainbow just to Kira’s right.
“And there is your paintbox,” he said.
To this day, Kira always stops by Giancarlo’s house after her travels around the world. After she stops weeping—for there are always a great many beautiful stories she has to tell—she dips her brush into the many colors of the rainbow, and paints on the vast canvas of the sky. And that is why, above Giancarlo’s house, as far as the eye can see, the sky is filled with dazzling murals of the mountains, deserts, forests, cities, oceans, and countless other landscapes that Kira has seen in her travels.
Kira was one such cloud, and she spent a great deal of time hovering over the house of Giancarlo, who loved to paint landscapes. Day after day she would see Giancarlo outside, filling his easel with the sights before him. It often rained the day after Giancarlo finished one of his paintings, because Kira was quite overcome with happiness.
Kira was, in fact, so taken with Giancarlo’s artwork that put on her best outfit in the hopes that Giancarlo would turn his attention to the sky, and try his hand at portraiture. When Giancarlo saw Kira, with the light filtering through her hair, he was immediately inspired, and for several hours, Kira stayed perfectly still, unmoving even as her friends rode the wind currents across the sky. When he finished, it was as if there were two Kiras, one in the sky, and one forever preserved on the canvas.
Yet for many days afterward, it rained. At first Giancarlo was touched by Kira’s sincere emotional praise of his work, but after a week, he grew concerned. Finally, he put on a raincoat, opened his umbrella, stepped outside, and asked Kira why she continued to weep.
“Oh, my dearest Giancarlo,” said Kira, “you create such beauty, and though I weep with joy when I see it, I also weep with sorrow. I so wish that I could share the things I’ve seen the way you can. Alas, though, I have no ability, and even if I did, I have no paint.”
“Nonsense,” said Giancarlo, stepping into his balloon—which he kept handy for occasions such as this—and loosing it from its moorings. “Now then, my dear Kira, dry your eyes. You have an artist’s soul, and an artist heart, and the only reason you do not paint is because no one has taught you.”
As Giancarlo handed Kira a brush the sun once again shone in the sky, and he pointed to the rainbow just to Kira’s right.
“And there is your paintbox,” he said.
To this day, Kira always stops by Giancarlo’s house after her travels around the world. After she stops weeping—for there are always a great many beautiful stories she has to tell—she dips her brush into the many colors of the rainbow, and paints on the vast canvas of the sky. And that is why, above Giancarlo’s house, as far as the eye can see, the sky is filled with dazzling murals of the mountains, deserts, forests, cities, oceans, and countless other landscapes that Kira has seen in her travels.
