Red Umbrella

Slow he moves - a singularity in the symphony of the rain that hiss at his presence. He trudges on, unaware of the rain's contempt and efforts to discourage his journey. In his umbrella he places his trust, crimson in the monochrome of the afternoon downpour. Heavy, the rain drops fall, bouncing off the red trampoline and onto the flooded pavement.

"No worries," he tells himself, "I'll be there soon."