A spoken-word piece about Seattle's gray skies and the speaker's ritual of carrying a large umbrella that shelters two people. The umbrella becomes a metaphor for intimacy and protection, a shared space that brings the speaker close to someone they love.
It seems to be always raining. I know it isn't true, although Seattle skies look gray, not blue. So I carry my umbrella. It has room enough for two. We're sheltered in our world when our umbrella's totally unfurled. I love Seattle when it's raining. It's my favorite time to be. Close to you when our umbrellas open wide, safely closing us inside. A wild, unfurled under an umbrella sky, a private canopy. Just for you and me. I love Seattle when it's raining. It seems to be always raining just for you and me. And so it's very true, I carry my umbrella. I carry my umbrella. I carry my umbrella. Just to be so very close to you.
