In a small village among mango trees lived a little girl with a blue umbrella. It was one of those umbrellas with a wooden hooked handle, to lay easy in her palm.
The umbrella broke on the day the rains came - just one of the spines. And when it broke, one side began to sag so the little girl could no longer stand under its great shield alongside another.
The umbrella was a deep blue, and black in the dark except on full moon nights, when the mountains in circle of her lit up with the eve.
The rain ran rivers through the small village. The girl moved on toe point, fearing the mud that lurks to sink, and still alone because of her broken umbrella.
But truly, she was happy it broke and the rain was strong. She was happy to be alone. She twirled the umbrella round in her palms, walking along the dirt roads, the branches of the mango trees tangled above her.
On the other side of the village, another young girl smeared brown mud on a tree, on its leaves and trunk. She thought the tree looked funny, dirty. She liked it.
It was dusk when the girl with the umbrella came upon the one with the dark brown hands. Soon only the rain with its sound and smell would cut through the thick black of the night. The girl with the umbrella clasped tight saw the other reach for her. It was time to go home.
She knew the other wanted to keep her hands brown, so she held her umbrella out over the girl to protect them, and walked alongside her, rain pattering soft on her own head.
They walked home, and a friendship began.
Welcome! This is where I share my art.
More art (...less text / more images) here:
"The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable."