The People with Umbrellas in the Snow

There are people with umbrellas
In the snow

Scared to touch it
Scared to let it fall on them

They have been told
That if they stop looking up at it
The snow will not bother them so much

But they are more concerned
About not being bothered by it

'When will it stop,' they ask each other
'It has to stop eventually,' they tell each other
'Do you like my umbrella,' they ask each other
'I've had quite enough,' they say to each other, but really, to nobody

They stand outside tall buildings
Hoping the height of the structural behemoths
Might catch some of the precipitation
And it does--catch some of it
But not all of it--not by a long shot

So they huddle together
And create a sort of canopy of umbrellas
Under which they throw a cocktail party
Taking turns holding up the multi-colored roof

Someone pulls a guitar out of a guitar case
And begins taking requests
And every request is made
Except for 'Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow'

'It wouldn't be so bad if it were the holidays,' says one person
'It wouldn't be so bad if it were winter,' says another
'It wouldn't be so bad if we knew when it would stop,' said a third

Everybody begins to dance
And soon people are mixing up umbrellas
And the roof is handed off
To people when it isn't even their turn
And so the roof begins to move
And as it does
Snow begins to fall through the gaps
And the people with the umbrellas in the snow
Find themselves with snow on their shoulders
And in their hair
And on their feet

And surprisingly, they find themselves liking the way that it feels

Soon the street is littered with umbrellas
And the party goes on
With no roof in sight

Light bounces off the snow
As it falls on the people
The people who now dance in the snow

The person with the guitar
Plays and plays
And a little girl named Clara
Looks down from the highest floor
In that tall, tall building
At all the people below

'Clara,' a voice says, it's her mother

'Honey,' she says, 'I'm done for the day.  Let's go home.'

And when Clara looks down again
There's a little snow globe in front of her
With little dancing people in front of a large building
Like the one she's sitting in

Next to the building is a park made of snow
With tiny snowmen dancing around
A beautiful woman made entirely of snow

And, only in the reflection, Clara sees a man
An explorer, with a helmet on and everything
Who seems to be disappearing deeper and deeper
Into the cool, blue glass

'Clara,' said her mother, 'Are you ready?  I want to get home before it starts to snow.'

Clara tucked her snow globe
Safely into her pink backpack
And said--

'Yes, I'm ready'

And as her mother took her hand
And led her out of the office

Umbrellas came floating up
Into the sky
As the first flakes of snow
Began to fall