Writing practice. Umbrella. 5 minutes.

You are still a necessity, an enduring appendage, as no app on any smartphone has ever replaced you yet. And so I write an ode to the umbrella I lost in the woods. Your underside was dark to absorb the light reflected from the pavement. You took that in and not threw it back at me. But your cover was shimmery two-toned blue/purple, and it threw back the sun's rays at the Universe. I need you, and my polarized sunglasses, and my sunblock. And I need you now that the monsoon has wet the streets every afternoon. Be my lover, umbrella. Marry me and I promise to dry you out completely and fold you neatly after every use. I promise to chase after you when you are tossed about by the wind. And I promise, most of all, to extol your fine, protective qualities to all I meet, and surely to strike umbrella-envy and inferiorella complex to them. This I swear, I do, so I shall go back to the woods where I lost you

photo credit TopNature.xyz