On a very rainy Tuesday, a small red umbrella named Una was doing her job.
Her job was: keep Isabella dry.
She was very good at her job.
Drip drip drip. Rain bounced off her. She caught every drop.
But then the wind came.
Not a small wind.
A large, opinions-about-umbrellas wind.
WHOOOOOOSH.
And Una went up. ☂️
🏙️ The City From Above
Una had never seen the city from up here.
She had seen the pavements. The puddles. The ankles of very many strangers.
But not this.
The rooftops, red and grey and green.
The chimneys breathing little puffs of white.
The river cutting through the middle like a silver ribbon someone had dropped.
The tiny yellow dots of taxis.
The tiny umbrellas of all the other people — red ones, black ones, a very ambitious rainbow one.
Oh, thought Una. It’s enormous.
☂️ Adventures in the Air
She drifted over a market.
Flowers. Fish. A man selling cheese. The smell of all of it came up in one warm cloud.
She drifted over a park.
Children on swings. Dogs going in circles. A duck who was not impressed by any of this.
She drifted over the train station, with its great glass roof through which she could see the tiny trains coming and going like toys.
“I had no idea,” said Una, to no one in particular.
“No idea about what?” said a pigeon, gliding alongside.
“About all of it,” said Una. “I was always too busy keeping someone dry.”
💛 Coming Down
The wind set her down gently.
Right back in Isabella’s hand.
As if it had just been showing her something.
Isabella looked at Una, a little damp now, still spinning slowly from the flight.
“Where did you go?” said Isabella.
Una couldn’t answer, because umbrellas can’t talk.
But she tilted, very slightly, upward.
Isabella looked up at the rainy grey sky.
And for the first time, wondered what the city looked like from up there.
Up there, where the clouds were.
Where Una had just been. ☂️