My Umbrella

Written October 9, 2015, this piece of writing was inspired while I was standing outside in the rain under an umbrella.

I sit in silence, surrounded by a downpour of rain. I am enveloped in my umbrella, out of reach of the drops falling and impacting the earth. Here, in my little haven, there is a sense of security. I sit at peace with my newfound tranquility. I get some satisfaction from seeing others caught in the storm's clutches. Yet, here I am, with my umbrella. I watch them run past, trying in vain to salvage every bit of dryness they have left. Here, nestled safely in my cocoon, the wetness cannot touch me. The rain pitter-patters off of the top of my shelter, an insistent knocking, demanding: "Let me in!" I slowly spin my umbrella and watch the prongs above me fade into a blur. The rain picks up now, pounding on the roof with both fists. But still, it cannot get to me. I feel numb, like I'm out of touch with reality. Time seems to falter, then freeze as I stand with my umbrella, tucked away where the rain can never reach me. Still others run by, skirting puddles and clinging to themselves. As if they could escape the storm. I walk along nimbly, not in any hurry to find shelter, for I'm already safe under mine. The rain, frustrated by its unsuccessful attempts to break through my barricade, slowly dies down, then ceases. Over time, I watch the clouds recede, surrendering as the sun shyly peeks out. When it has determined all is clear, it slides into full view. The trees and plants still drip, shedding their tears in exchange for the warmth and happiness that the sun's rays offer. I have no more use for my umbrella, my faithful friend who took me in when I was in need. Now, I say good-bye to my oasis in the storm as I shake off the droplets, fold it up, and turn my cheek to greet the sun.

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