My sister bought it years ago, too bad, my mother didn’t get the chance to enjoy it, she would've treasured it.
It became a reminder of sadness, an unintended metaphor, for loss and pain...it always brought back that very unexpected, very sad early morning in February.
Its bright red handle...faded through weeks, months and years of changing seasons, stood on a corner for a long time...unused, but still intact, until i took notice one day, brought it out of its dusty wrap and opened the red cane umbrella.
A smiling face suddenly flashed in mind...a presence who, on early mornings, eagerly recited, “I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul,” tirelessly sketched portraits of unknown faces during unholy hours, planted, cooked, sewed, while humming "Ramona"...one who taught us about silent vows and undying promises that eventually, became ours to keep.
It's now an accompanying cane, the red umbrella...it saves me from miscalculating steps, from falling debris, when keeping walls from crumbling.