It's the color of the umbrella we stand under on a Thursday. It's pouring out and, true to every other time we've went out in bad weather, she brought something that's sure to cover her hair. I'm not sure why she chose today to surprise me at work today with an invitation to my favorite restaurant on my lunch break, because I'm sure she looked out the window before she came. I don't mind. No, I really don't mind at all.
Because she's adorable when she's trying to stay under every stores' tarp we pass under for as long as she can, and scurrying like a mouse to the next when that one ends. The umbrella really isn't doing much. It's blowing with the wind and rain is blowing sideways instead of down. She's more likely to blow away into the clouds than to stay dry.
If I were a more contemplative woman, I'd think she always seemed like someone who's dreams made them fly. That the clouds are where she and her soul belong, waltzing along the sky with the breeze and making friends with the angels. But... I'd rather her be here, no matter how flighty her presence seems, with me.
It's the color of the umbrella we stand under on a Thursday, and I'm thanking every saint and angel that exists that they gifted me with a woman just as amazing as them.
