Her umbrella settles upside down,
Open, but on the ground.
She grasps it by the firm handle,
And drags it slowly, letting it dangle.
The rain is falling in unforgiving buckets,
She’s drenched, cold and adapted to numbness.
Her steps are staggered, her head hangs low,
Dusk is upon her, and she’s all alone.
She feels a pull, a prompting from deep within.
To set the umbrella, upright again.
Slightly hesitant, she complies,
Lifting her head to join her open eyes.
Present once more in the moment,
Awareness restored, yet remaining reticent.
Her feet steadying, weakly standing tall,
Grasping the hand reaching out, preventing her fall.
The hand of God, powerful, and nostalgically familiar,
Love, warmth, and light surreal.
He calms the storm inside her soul,
Her upright umbrella; she’s alone no more.