Red and yellow, black and white

Everything was perfect. The moment I had dreamed about came true. As I emerged, there it was. The scene of delight. There was an eddy of struggle rippling out into similar sights. Green polka dots, see through, black with gray trim, I was surrounded by all these and more. They were scattered around, discarded, they were inside out in the hands of their owners, they were blowing around like tumble weed. In the damp heat I walked through the meters of Asians; my eyes amused. Between these two buildings, right after my Yeoksam subway exit 3, on June 23, 2011, there was the perfect storm. It is not a well known fact, but I love the sight of a dysfunctional umbrella. That twisted mechanical silver spidery technology that has failed in its function. Even more than this, the way a calm, collected professional deals with the combination of cheap umbrella and strong wind. Luckily, Korea is plentiful with cheap, flimsy umbrellas, and this rainy wind was unconcerned with an Asians fear of the elements. My eyes feasted on the comical faces trying to hold onto their shields. A man unsuccessfully attempted to fix his, and marched in devoted anger to deposit his now worthless covering into a receptacle. As my head turned to follow his course, I saw the trash can already brimming with planted umbrella handles that had been speared into it. The process of turning my head back to my path saw the combustive inverting of 3 umbrellas. I felt special. The sounds were pleasant and distant in the whipping wind and sloshing traffic. I passed by corners with gnarled up, white ribboned, scrap piles of flapping fabric and shining metal joints that would make any x-ray technician cringe if it were fractured bones instead of hinging metal and ripped waterproof wind sock. Ahead of me, the nylon between two spines was vibrating in urgent alarm, the segment fully stressed by the mounting wind. The taut shape would bounce, lifting as if to never stop, and returning in a gravity descent, fatiguing the integrity of the structure, but reminding me of an amusement ride. My umbrella remained closed in my hand, as the rain was hardly present at this point. Oncoming foot traffic sped by, their expensive golf umbrellas pulling them like a sail. Portable counterparts did not stand a chance. They became a straight line like a dried and stretched out bat attached to a pole. Those who made it through the wind torrent had a new shape above them. Picture a sloping gentle hill where beyond the apex there suddenly juts up steeply a distorted arm only to abruptly fall off like a cliff. Practically, the owners of such contraptions only lost about 20% of coverage, but the silly look of it was priceless. Never before have I seen such a concentrated onslaught on a group of people all scrambling and acting the fool, but then again, this is only day 2 of the rainy season. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, there's always tomorrow, and why not enjoy the spirit of Nature as she indiscriminately plays with who she will.