A bouquet of umbrellas for the coming storm

Abri Nº177 by OzCollective

Starched and Monogrammed
By Annette Marie Hyder

He pulled an old-fashioned handkerchief from his perfectly tailored suit breast pocket. It was large and white and was embroidered delicately with his initials: WOE. Yes, I recognized it as handiwork of my own. WOE and I had been on intimate terms at one time. I knew conversation, reasoning, would avail for nothing. So I did what I thought best with the handkerchief offered me from his pristine breast. I let it drop to the ground. I noticed as it puffed out its cumulus wings and floated to the ground that it mirrored in a miniature way the canopy of puffery that hung over our heads that day. Much better, I told myself, when there is nothing left to say — much better to turn on one’s heel and leave sir WOE at bay.