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.  …

Umbrellas 1/2 marathon poem #5 Raindrops fall upon dancing umbrellas On an English summer’s windswept day Children jumping embracing their mothers In an English weather’s cabaret. (C) Scott Coe 2020