Kathryn Nicolai

A starry night looked back at me from inside the little bubble of space.

A moon rising, a galaxy of stars lighting up the purple and deep blue fabric sky.

The sound of the rain falling on it was cozy and like listening to it fall on the roof when you're tucked up snug in bed.

I steered through the street, wondering if the hopeful bikers had indeed made it home by now.

If not,

I hoped they rode through a few good-sized puddles.

I ducked under the awning at the café, collapsed my umbrella, and gave it a good shake before going in and sliding it into the rack by the door.

My favorite chair was open, and the place smelled of roasted beans and tea leaves.

Welcome, April showers.

I was glad they were here.

April showers.

I'd brought along my umbrella today.

and by the look of the skies this afternoon, it seemed like a wise choice.

I had a little collection of umbrellas in the stand by my front door.

I had the standard collapsible kind

the sort that folded up into an astonishingly small package and could be easily carried in a pocket or bag.

I had a couple of the long, standard kind, black fabric and a curved handle,

and a neat snap to keep it folded when not in use.

And I had a pretty pink one that I'd been given as a child.

It was a bit bent from being included in lots of play,