It’s been a spectacularly rainy grey day in Vancouver.

I dug out my little umbrella from the trunk of the car and set off walking. I soon discovered that my little blue-polka-dotted umbrella, bought so many years ago in Paris, had finally given up.

Broken spines, missing threads, a sad flapping remnant of what once was. She got me to where I needed to go and then I left her on a window shelf by a seat at Robson and Homer. She might help someone get home a little drier, but no longer can stand up to regular assaults by this rainforest world.

I’m a big proponent of editing and getting rid of anything that isn’t ‘beautiful and necessary’ in my world. But for some reason, it always surprises me when the decision is made for me; when something reaches the end of its useful life and leaves me.

Why should it be surprising when things are just finished, kaput, broken or ripped beyond repair?

Everything around me is a reminder of this very fact. Leaves flame out and fall. Flowers droop and rot back into the earth. Everything returning to its beginning.

Life cycles. Round and round.

Funny thing. I thought I was just going to talk about my umbrella and the Vancouver rain.

I love writing and where it takes me…