umbrella - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
My umbrella is a gay splash of colour on this sweet grey-scale day, a day when one could feel as if one walked in a fancy silver-screen old movie. My hand curls around the handle that was once part of any old fence post, and the canopy stretches above me as if it were the blossoms of a rainforest.
They used that umbrella in rain and shine, that navy blue fabric adorned with flowers protected them just the same. It was small, humble I guess, perhaps that's why it suited them so well. There was a time I bought something larger, more expensive looking black fabric and an ornate curved handle. They had laughed in a way that felt cozy, welcoming, even as they shook their heads. Then uncle said, "Under something so large, what would be my excuse to cuddle up to Jenny?" I grinned, letting my eyes find the knots on the wooden floor, each plank made beautiful years of sunlight.
Upon the umbrella was the rhythm of the rain, each drop a clear beat upon the cerise fabric. There was something about being under it that made me feel as if I were flying instead of walking, as if it were rain upon wings, as if I was rising high regardless of the weather, destined to rise above and watch the clouds below. As my fingers tightened around the curved wooden handle, a tiny smile grew wider, one so reminiscent of girlhood. I was here on the street, boots in the rain, with my head above white puffed clouds, warmed by the sun, all at once.
Drops cascade from the umbrella rim as pretty as any waterfall. I let myself watch them, water playing with the cloud-filtered light. It gives the city streets a romantic feeling, as if this were an old movie. I imagine a sea of black umbrellas, the water bouncing from each. Yet the part of me that remained in the present calls for my attention, for upon the nascent rain-given river comes the bus, golden lights shining. Then, for a moment I am unguarded, when I transform my blue umbrella wing into a woven walking stick; I feel the rain. Perhaps had it not been for my daydream I might have shied away, thought it cold; instead it feels fresh, softly reassuring.
From autumn to spring, Jade was always found in the company of her rainbow umbrella - eight perfect panels, including the white one. It suited her. She, more than anyone I know, had an internal rainbow too. It was as if she'd found a way to keep a drop of her child-self alive, and it shone through whenever she smiled or laughed, which was often.