My umbrella

It’s not raining yet.

My knight’s sword slices and jabs at ferocious beasts in my path.

My cricketer’s bat unerringly finds every curved ball speeding towards me.

My geriatric’s cane pokes a row of holes in the spongy black soil, pleasing me with their perfect symmetry.

At last it’s time to unfurl.

I find the tiny button and with a soft snick it opens to full bloom in one motion.

I smell the fresh plastic, watch the tiny drops dribble off the jutting edges, hear the muted sounds from under my shell.

I look up as I twirl the handle, mesmerised by the domed colours spinning around.

I tilt the mushroom slightly and a breeze sneaks underneath with me.

My muscles tighten as I struggle to control the living creature tugging to be free.

If I keep holding, could it drag me off the ground into the wet sky?

No, I know my mother would grab my ankles and pull me down to earth.

I stand close to her and shiver with nervous delight, waiting for the next gust of wind...