My roof was a wooden handled, three foot long, black beauty. With a steel tipped point it doubled as a walking cane and twirling rod when the skies cleared. Classic beauty and perfect pragmatism, I had style and elegance in hand to counter balance the soaking wet second hand sneakers and mud splattered bluejeans.
Umbrellas are my dreams lately. Even while awake the image of that open umbrella resting on the floor... are these the storms? That temporal roof is a comfort in a transitory world. I'm not trying to convey some big message, there are just images I can't shake and my black umbrella has been following me around in my head for the last week. I'm not Mary Poppins, I don't sing in the rain, I'm not found by the gentleman waiting to save the wet damsel, so why is my umbrella stalking my brain?
In other news, Cindi Lauper has a blues album called the Memphis Blues. I know, right? That's what I said too. Anyways, I heard it on the B&N playlist, reviews will follow once I get comfortable with the album.
