An umbrella is meant for rain. That's why seeing one open indoors feels slightly wrong, even when nothing is happening.
It reminds me how often we prepare for storms that never arrive. We carry conversations in our heads before they happen. We imagine outcomes before taking the first step. We brace for disappointment while standing in perfectly ordinary sunlight.
Preparation is useful, but sometimes it quietly becomes a habit of expecting the worst.
Maybe today doesn't need a shield.
Maybe it only asks us to notice the room we're already standing in—the light coming through the window, the silence, and the fact that not every cloudy thought becomes weather.