In a country famous for its dull rainy weather, I suppose it's predictable. Not being used to the sight, however, I felt sheer marvel when I first noticed it.
I was walking carefree with a friend on Westminster Bridge when I saw them. Those poor, entangled wires with rags around them were like rotting carcasses. I leaned closer and realised they were actually umbrellas. Perhaps in the past they had served their purpose, but now they were just a metal wreckage. I wondered why people would leave their broken umbrellas just there on the road. But maybe the strong wind destroyed them and carried them away. Who knows?
Today, I experienced the umbrella-wrecking myself. I went out of the pub and as it was raining I opened my umbrella. And there it was, half broken, twisted, shabby. I was disappointed and baffled. However, I walked with the remains of what once was my umbrella until I found a litter bin and threw it away. I buried it as it should be, instead of abandoning it somewhere.
I like to think that I paid respect to my unmissable London friend this way.
No comments:
Post a Comment