An Umbrella in The Snow

A recently-shoveled sidewalk cuts cleanly between opposing snowbanks, dividing the landscape into three perfect, horizontal stripes of white, like some bleached-out foreign flag. Freshly fallen snow blankets the scene. The rugged and pock-marked terrain of yesterday’s trampled wanderings form into gentle slopes, hills and valleys under the new snow creating a hodge-podge of not-quite-foot-sized impressions that half-fill with the shadows of the rising or setting sun.

The would-be pristine landscape is marred by two sets of footprints, one, a jumble of flighty bird feet, small and Y-shaped that flit about the snowbanks’ rises and falls in the random roamings of a creature with a miniscule brain, the other, a series of shoeprints or bootprints, nine simple dance-steps that tango down the pavement. They stop before an umbrella, white and snow-covered, that rests in their path.

It’s a full-sized umbrella, the kind that pokes at the tip and hooks at the end. Fully spread apart, it spans the entire width of the walk as it delicately balances on the handle and on two of its ribs. Like the rest of the landscape, it’s only half lit by the sun and casts a dark umbrella-shaped shadow on the ground it occupies.

photo courtesy of Silah Güler, used with permission.