There's nothing unusual about losing an umbrella; in fact, umbrellas wander so freely in and out of my life that I consider myself merely a way station on the umbrella's quest for its true destination. When a seven-foot patio umbrella disappears, however, people stand up and take notice.
And then they start wandering around the yard looking for it: in the shed, the back yard, the side yard, the creek, but if it's stuck on the slope that leads down to the creek it's lost for good because nobody's interested in climbing down that way. Then one of the young men turned and looked up and there it was sitting on the roof as if placed there by the hand of a benevolent weather deity.
How did the umbrella get up on the roof? Wind is the chief suspect, but it's not talking. How did the umbrella get down from the roof? Two men and a rake. What account was the umbrella able to give of its adventures? None at all; it just meekly went back to keeping the sun off our picnic without a word of explanation. I'm not sure what it would say anyway aside from "Thanks for the lift."
No comments:
Post a Comment