Wilma was an extra bouncy young cloud.
Who liked to play.
At top speed.
“Slow down!” shouted an older cloud. “Ouch!” complained another. “Oof!” “Look out!” “Careful!”
Wilma was having such fun. She didn’t try to plough into the other clouds. But sometimes her attention wandered when she was playing.
By now, the other clouds had had enough. They exchanged thoughts with one another.
Wilma is a problem.
She thumped into me so hard a little drop of rain came out. It was VERY embarrassing.
If she can’t play nicely, then she shouldn’t play at all.
“You must stay still!” they told her.
So she did. For a while.
But staying still was boring. Wilma started to fidget.
She stretched herself into funny shapes.
Then she puffed herself up… bigger and bigger... until…
…uh-oh!
She grew so huge, she buffeted a storm cloud…
…that then shot a bolt of lightning straight into a tree…
…blasting it into matchsticks.
“BAAAAAA!!!!” bleated a flock of frightened-looking sheep, diving into a ditch to escape the hullabaloo.
“SORRY,” cried Wilma.
“Oh Wilma!” grouched the other clouds. “Go and play higher-up where you won’t be in the way.”
Wilma floated higher into the sky, not looking where she was going. As usual.
And then…
…uh-oh!
She ploughed into a skein of geese. They honked loudly and dropped an enormous amount of goose poop…
…PLOP!
It landed on a woman and her newly-polished car. She shook her fist at Wilma.
“SORRY,” Wilma called out.
“Oh Wilma!” chided the other clouds. “Go and play lower-down where you won’t be in the way.”
Wilma sped off, not looking where she was going. As usual.
And then…
…uh-oh!
She blew into some…
