The Little Lost Umbrella

Once upon a time, there was a natty black umbrella. It was born in a factory with thousands of others much like it, assembled by sweatshop workers who were desperate to feed their families. Practical hands packaged it, stuffed it in a box with dozens of its siblings, and then it went on a long ride in trucks and ships and possibly on railways until it reached a department store. It lived in the shelves for a while, where children used it as a sword. It felt this gave it character. It loved its swash-buckling days.

It watched a few of its siblings be sold. Their places were taken by close cousins. They all speculated after store closing, wondering what sort of hands they would end up in, and what the rain and wet were they were made to protect people from.

As it was spring, the natty black umbrella didn’t have long to wait. A tourist visiting the Pacific Northwest for the first time picked the umbrella up, unfurled it, and said, “Good enough.” They did not put the umbrella back in its sleeve, and didn’t ask for a bag, but immediately after purchase unfurled the black umbrella again. It was very excited to be fulfilling its destiny. It proudly protected its new owner from three raindrops and a hint of mist. It didn’t even care when natives with bare heads and no umbrella passed by and smirked.

It rode around in the backseat of a car filled with luggage and people for a long while, until the car stopped and its owner took it out again. This time, it was able to shelter Owner from a full dozen raindrops and much heavier mist. It even began to get a bit damp on top, but inside and underneath, it was wonderfully dry.

The natty black umbrella traveled up a winding walkway with Owner, occasionally poking other people in the eye or head, as they crowded around and tried to all look at the same strip of raindrops. There were so many raindrops that the umbrella couldn’t tell them apart. This was probably where raindrops come from. The umbrella stood upright and strong, ready to protect Owner should those raindrops stop making individual forays and attack Owner en masse.

Image shows the two tall, thin tiers of Multnomah Falls plunging over basalt. There's a stone arch bridge between the tiers.
Multnomah Falls.

They went up another, narrower winding trail, poking many more people, and stopped on a bridge. The raindrops sent out a foray of spray, which the natty black umbrella found very vexing. It tried to protect Owner, but the wind was conspiring against them, helping the spray suddenly change course to this direction or that, willy-nilly, and the umbrella couldn’t stop them all. It was very trying.

Then Owner took it further up the path, where the spray couldn’t attack. The natty black umbrella flapped its fastener at the spray, a very rude gesture, but one it felt warranted in light of the outrageous behavior it had just endured.

They came to a spot along the trail where there were no trees, and they could look down on their adversary and plot another line of attack. Without warning, a gust of wind tackled the natty black umbrella and rammed into its underneath. It couldn’t be shed, like raindrops, and the umbrella was helpless against it. It tried to resist, but the wind heaved at it, and it felt itself ripped right from Owner’s hand.

The wind hurled the natty black umbrella into a chasm, and then let go of it. It tumbled through the air, and fell on its top, right in the hands of its greatest enemies! It felt the massed raindrops grip it, and swirl it until it was dizzy, and turn it on its head, and fill its insides. It tumbled and spun, terrified, until it jolted to a halt against a log. Many raindrops piled in, not allowing it to roll onto its side. They made it too heavy for the wind to pick up. It lay there, trapped and helpless, hoping for rescue.

Image shows the terrace below Upper Multnomah Falls, and the creek wending its way along. To the right, the sheer cliffs of basalt rise, topped with lush greenery. To the left is a screen of trees, and the walkways filled with people. A sad, lost umbrella is somewhere in this picture...
A little lost umbrella is somewhere in this photo.

It waits there to this day, helpless and miserable, while Owner gets slightly damp on the way to pick up a new natty black umbrella.

Image shows a black umbrella with a hooked handle resting upside down in the creek. A log keeps it from going over the edge of the lower falls. A lot of foam is piled up beside it.
The poor lonely lost natty black umbrella waits for rescue between the falls.

Fin.

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The Little Lost Umbrella
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5 thoughts on “The Little Lost Umbrella

  1. rq
    1

    So, an accident of fate, not an escape fantasy? :D It is simply returning to its natural roots. I hope it has a happy ending eventually.

  2. 3

    This is why I always get the kind of bumbershoot that can vent out the top…and also grip tightly if there’s any breeze.

    The Pacific Northwest can be very hard on umbrellas.

    Also, too, those of us who wear spectacles because otherwise we’d fall into ditches or walk into walls…we tend to prefer to not have those dozen or so raindrops on our lenses buggering up our (heavily corrected) vision!

  3. 4

    The Pacific Northwest can be very hard on umbrellas.

    That’s just one of the reasons why I simply don’t bother with them.

    A hook-shaped handle or judicious use of a wrist strap might have prevented this tragedy!

  4. 5

    As one of the chronically be-spectacled I find them useful, but employ a two-handed, strong-arm technique if there’s any significant breeze…

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