On my 6th bday, my mom gave me a shiny, mushroom-shaped acrylic umbrella and a poem. I really liked the poem and kept it (the poem, not the umbrella) for a very long time (nope...don't remember how long or what I did with it, so don't ask). All I really remember about it was that it (the umbrella this time...NOT the poem) looked really cool, I liked it and it came with a poem. For some odd reason, I (like few other six-year-olds) relished a poem as a sort of treasure. (My mom wrote a second poem about us that won us a fabulous V-Day prize, but I'll discuss that some other time.) I remember...
sweating in a rubber raincoat waiting for the bus stop...
feeling safely ensconced in my vinyl mushroom umbrella
feeling warm and safe and loved...
all that...from an umbrella?
YUP.
Maybe it's the mushroom shape:
(These are my very own shroom pix, by the way)
I wish I had something profound to say about this particular topic, yet words escape me. All I can say for now is how sweet it is when someone shares an umbrella with you...and how sweet it is for someone to lend an umbrella to you...and how frequently one needs an umbrella, when it isn't actually raining....
But...
it might.
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