You’re like the literature I never understand. A book that takes thousands of years for me to finish read but still unable to grasp anything. If so you are to be put in a collection of poems, I shall not be entertained by your metaphor and rhyme. If so you are a children’s fable with drawings and such, your characters are inanimate with dead personifications. If so you are a song, you are played monotonously and I shall yawn of boredom.

Exhausted I am about to relate your figurative words with history and the map of the world, I bear no burden as I refuse to bear such person.

“Sometimes we have to let it go, honey,” said Mummy.

“I don’t think I can,” said Cloud.

. . . . .

               November Air were dancing with glee. Sunlight beamed its light onto them. They all look blissful with their partners. Laughter was ripe among them. Then, they stopped. Another dance would be performed. Their toes ready, fingers settled in position. Soon, the Winter ballet started. November Air continued dancing on branches of pine trees, bare oak trees, and the trees, too, swayed from left to right, pleasuring grief and loneliness of the sharp air.

Autumn was about to end.

Sunlight went dim. In an instant, everything turned darker. The music of Autumn slowed down. A hush was heard. November air waned into nothingness. December Wind took charge. And every cloud in the kingdom gathered.

                White flakes slowly fell onto rivers and lakes, friends with gills swam deeper towards warmth, soon, the water stood still in tranquility.

Every crisp from every leaves frozen beneath layers of coldness, furry friends lullaby their little ones, humming soft notes to soothe their beating hearts, to calm their minds, while the others waited for sweet dreams to visit them.

                Cloud was staring at the life under him hid themselves from the snow. He watched the colour of Earth turned pale. Sighed upon the sad state of Earth, he refused to give out snow despite his mother’s urges.

                “I’m worried that my friends will get sick,” Cloud said, denying his ego.

                “Why, they are all cocooned in their shelters, warm enough to catch a cold,” Mummy reassured him.

                “Come on, chap! You’ve whined about this all November already! Look at Stratus, ready and all. Why can’t you be him, eh?” Cumulus teased him.

               Stratus was staring at his own reflection on the big lakes. He was admiring on how much he had grown darker, bigger, and tougher than his two brothers. Not even the charming giggles of Cirruses could take his eyes off of himself.

                In seconds, snow had covered Earth. December wind had sprinkled crystals of snowflakes everywhere, decorating Earth as they wish. The whiteness blinded Clouds eyes. He turned his eyes off the surface and saw little by little, his brothers began to fade away. Mummy was out of sight. He panicked a little. Stratus became smaller and smaller. He watched his arms became shorter as Stratus threw flakes upon flakes onto Earth. Later, he vanished. Cloud looked for Cumulus. Then, he found him to be darker and showering Earth with freezing droplets.

                “Cumulus! Stop! Stop pouring water! You’ll die! Stop!” shouted Cloud.

                “Aww… I know that. We all know that,” responded Cumulus calmly with a smile.

                “Then, why are you doing this?”

                “Sometimes, that’s how loving works. Aren't we to give and…”

                “Disappear? And not even a credit granted?”

                “We give to give. We do not ask to be given in return.” Then, the rain stopped.

 There was not a single cloud left except for Cloud. He looked for other surviving clouds. Nowhere. Nobody. Soon, his anger grew.

We give to give. We do not ask to be given in return. The words chanted in his head, repeating itself one after the other.

“Sometimes, we have to let it go, honey.”

“To let what go, Mummy? Raindrops? Snowflakes? Which one?”

“Love.”

Cloud hugged himself tightly, cradling himself from left to right refuses to sacrifice his existence for Earth. However, what’s left for him now? With no one around, isn’t solitude is just the same as loneliness? And isn’t loneliness is no different than disappearing? Unnoticed, his tears began to form drizzles that were then collected by the wind. Some fell onto a robin with its right wing stuck under a layer of thin ice. The water droplets melted the ice off the robin and later it flew back to its nest happily. Cloud stopped crying. He felt grateful for the robin. At least it didn’t die in this cold weather. He moved onto a grain field and began to let out snowflakes, blanketing the crop from the cold air. Seeing each grain lying underneath the sheet of snow sent bliss to his heart.

We have to let it go. He understands it now.

“Be warm, everyone. See you in spring. I hope,” he whispered to Earth as he slowly vanished into thin air. The snow finally stopped. And every living on Earth slept silently that December with their wishful hearts of meeting each other again soon.