Outside the nursery school, Donkoro rumbled through the storm clouds. “Don doko don, don doko don, grumble grumble!” “It’s Mr. Thunder!” the children cried, and their shoes slapped the wet path as they dashed inside.
Donkoro hovered by the empty swings and listened to the gate clang in the rain. “Oh no,” said Donkoro. “Nobody is here anymore.”
At the next nursery school, Donkoro made an even bigger rumble. “Don don doko don, grumble grumble!” A bright zigzag flash popped in the gray sky like a silly drumbeat. “Wow, Mr. Thunder is here!” the children squealed.
But then the yard was empty again. Donkoro rolled to one more nursery school and gave a small hopeful rumble. Windows clicked shut. The yard went still. Only rain tapped the slide. “If you really don’t like me,” said Donkoro, “then I’ll go home too.”
The nursery school yard stayed empty. Rain striped the slide. The pinwheel did not move. Far away, Donkoro was already going home.
At home on a soft gray cloud, Donkoro rumbled around the house. “don... doko... don.” The cloud puffed and jiggled like a fluffy drum. Then Donkoro curled into the quiet cloud and listened to the faraway rain.
