Magritte whispers, “Those are not umbrellas.”
He is right, of course.
Those are souls that have been liberated
from the confines of hallways and corners.
No longer tethered to a human hand,
up high they can see
much farther than they did before.
Their bright colors and patterns continue to
shelter those below and brighten the mood
When the breeze blows,
you can almost hear them,
planning their final escape.
The wires break,
the souls take flight,
disappearing into celestial heights.