The Existential Cloud and the Spoon Conspiracy

Nimbus, a particularly fluffy cumulus, had an epiphany mid-drizzle. He was *bored*. Bored of precipitating, bored of drifting, utterly *bored* of being a cloud. "I want," he declared to a bewildered passing cirrus, "to be a professional competitive spoon collector!" The cirrus just evaporated in disbelief, probably forming a very confused puddle somewhere.

Nimbus’s new passion proved problematic. His attempts to "acquire" spoons from antique shops below resulted in highly localized, extremely precise downpours of gleaming silver. Mrs. Higgins’ prize-winning petunias were flattened by a sudden shower of Georgian teaspoons. A particularly aggressive storm front over the high street once consisted entirely of sporks, causing an unprecedented national cutlery shortage. The meteorological office issued a new warning: "Chance of isolated cutlery precipitation, especially antique silverplate, avoid open-mouthed awe."

His fellow clouds staged an intervention, expressing concern over his "unconventional atmospheric pursuits." Nimbus, however, was resolute. "You just don't understand the nuance of a well-balanced dessert spoon!" he boomed, accidentally generating a small hurricane of stainless steel. Eventually, an eccentric billionaire commissioned him to create custom "cutlery-based atmospheric art installations," which mostly involved raining forks onto very expensive canvases. Nimbus, finally fulfilled, specialized in crafting bespoke, spoon-shaped hail, often signed with a tiny, iridescent N.