Is there a writer in u? Or are you in a mood to read some short interesting stories? Here's the Story Section for all tastes.

Once the sky was grumpy and annoyed. He rumbled around angrily, trying to find something or someone who would make him feel better again. But no one seemed to notice him except the grass.

"What's the matter, Mr. Sky?" asked the grass, craning his little neck as high as he possibly could.

Sky stopped pacing around for a little while to look down at the grass. He sighed, and the sound rustled through the trees and the bushes like a sad little draft.

"It's nothing, really..." he started. The grass waited patiently.

"Well, it's just that I have this itch right here in my side," Sky bent himself almost in two to point to the spot in his massive frame, "and I can't reach it to scratch it and it's driving me crazy."

The grass crouched down as another sigh swept through the area, almost flattening him and his little green companions.

"I wish I could help you, Mr. Sky, I really do, but there's no way I can reach that high," said the grass.

"I know, no one can. I guess I'm just doomed to move around with this itch in my side forever," rumbled Sky.

"Wait a minute," said the grass, "why don't you ask those trees over there to help you out?" He pointed over to a couple of tall oak trees standing nearby, their branches reaching high into the sky.

Sky brightened up again at the thought. He bent down to the oak trees, nudging their leaves to get their attention. When they straightened up and looked toward him, the sky told them his problem and asked them if they could help. The oak trees reached up as high as they possibly could, lifting up their tallest branches, and tried to reach the itch in Sky's side.

But try as hard as they might, reach as high as they might, the spot seemed always just a little too far away. Finally their own sides aching with the effort, the trees had to give up.

"It's no use," wept Sky in frustration and his tears rained down in big plops on the grass who came up with another idea.
"Why don't we ask one of those birds on the treetops to fly over and help you out?" he suggested.

Sky heaved his gigantic frame towards the little bluebirds on the oak trees and asked them if they could help him out. The birds twit-twitted enthusiastically. But hard as they tried and high as they flew, they just couldn't reach high enough.

The mountains couldn't reach high enough to help Sky out of his misery either, and the clouds turned out to be far too soft to be of any use.
With each defeat Sky sighed harder and harder until the whole earth shivered.

By evening, cold winds were blowing through the grass, the mountains and the trees, covering them in ice from top to toe, in the middle of July. Worried, they all got together to plead to the Sun to help them out. Sun shook his huge yellow head apologetically.

"You know I set in the West. Sky's itch is up there, in the North. I'm sorry, but I just can't go over there."

Cold and anxious, the grass, the trees, the birds and the mountains huddled up wondering what to do, staring up at the miserable darkening sky, waiting for the moon to come up. Perhaps he could help. But Moon seemed rather late tonight. They waited and waited until at last it hit Sky that it was New Moon night. It was the moon's night off.

As everyone shivered and thought and shivered and thought in the freezing silence, they heard a small voice say shyly, "Do you think I might be able to help?" They looked up to see who had spoken. It was the only star shining in the sky, Polaris, the North Star.

Polaris carefully scratched Sky's itchy spot, and scratched and scratched until Sky sighed in relief, a sigh that gently tiptoed through the trees like a tender summer breeze. The cold winds stopped blowing, and in the still summer heat the ice on the trees and the grass and the mountains began to melt. Everything was returning to normal and by the next morning the sky was well rested and happy again.

He was very grateful to Polaris and enormously relieved to hear that she stayed in the same spot every night, night after night, summer or winter, all the year round.