Under My Umbrella

The world looks small from beneath my umbrella. It sounds small too. I can hear the fine drops of rain spatting onto the stretched canvas just above my head. I can see a few meters all around me. The greater world is there, always, but in this moment while I’m standing on the end of the floating dock jutting out into our lake, the world is small, intimate, within reach.

My scruffy shoes are level with the waterline. The dock is an old timber one and whatever sort of floatation there is to keep it afloat seems just as old. Water sloshes up between the slats and the windblown wavelets splat on top of them.

I can understand the fascination with ‘watery depths’ stories and monsters that might lurk beneath. (Jaws or The Posideon Adventure  anyone?) It’s an element that we humans, with our overblown sense of entitlement, can’t control … (oh, we can pollute it, build dams to contain it, we can freeze it, boil it, consume it in a gazillion ways, but ultimately it’ll have the last laugh) … and what we can’t control, we both fear and are fascinated with.

I grew up with the Pacific Ocean  in my back pocket. Land locked lakes are an unknown to me, and although I’m respectful of the brown-green watery depths right at the end of my toes, I’m also tempted to take one more step forward, just to see what happens.

Common sense tells me I’ll get wet, and probably lose my beautiful umbrella, (a present from Mrs Widdershins) but my uncommon sense asks, ‘what if’. What if it’s just another boundary between the worlds? What might be on the other side?

A wind sweeps the rain across the lake in shimmering veils, momentarily revealing the hills on the other side of the lake. I tilt my umbrella back and let the rain fall in my face. My world expands to include the whole lake. The hills and mountains beyond are all wrapped up in mist and summery, albeit damp, shades of green. The mist blows back in again and I feel like I’ve walked into Marion Zimmer Bradley’s, The Mists of Avalon

Maybe I took that step after all.

*

“I am not feeling any better because I cannot stay in bed, having constant cause for walking. They say I leave at night by the window of my tower, hanging from a red umbrella with which I set fire to the forest”Camille Claudel, French sculptor, 1864-1943

*

The ultimate ‘Under my umbrella’ song.


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17 comments on “Under My Umbrella

  1. jannatwrites says:

    I like your description of the rain and the lake. I live in a desert, so most things ‘water’ grab my attention. I do tend to stay out of the water, though, in case something in there can grab me (think Jaws) 🙂

    Like

    • Widdershins says:

      I remember swimming in a mountain river, many moons ago, when something chomped on my big toe! Did I get out of that water fast! … I figure it must’ve been a turtle or something similar because I didn’t have bite marks, but a series of linear scrapes the length of my toe.

      Like

  2. s.p.bowers says:

    Loved the beauty of your post. It made me miss the mountains/lakes/rain of my home growing up.

    Like

  3. Sigh. Good sigh, too. The feel of your imagery reminds me of being young and happily dancing naked in the warm spring rain in the backyard when no one was around. A comfort nice to feel right now for a moment. Thank you, m’am.

    Like

  4. clarbojahn says:

    The cool rain of Monday would be welcome this muggy 97 degree heat of Wednesday. going swimming anyone?

    Loved reading about your cool rain!

    Like

    • Widdershins says:

      I’m wishing summer temperatures would get here … I don’t think we’ve even hit the low 20’s this year … but then, human nature being what it is, I’ll probably dislike the heat after a while too!

      Like

  5. londonmabel says:

    Hey! I read this last week… but I guess I didn’t comment! Some very interesting thinks you had there.

    Like

  6. Perhaps it’s a vestige of the years I’ve spent living in rainy climates and a reflection of my new home on the parched prairies, but these days I don’t much like the rain. Sure, I miss the sound of rain on the tin roof of our villa in Auckland, and the fresh scent of the earth after the rain has passed. But there is nothing that irritates me more than the feeling of rain dripping off my nose.

    We’ve had a bit of that moisture from the sky recently on the eastern side of the Rockies, too. Let’s hope summer comes soon. In the meantime, I’m enjoying the grass while it’s still green, before the prairie sun turns it dry and yellow.

    Loved your post, Widdershins. A true wordsmith, you are.

    Like

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