The wind blew so hard the umbrellas revolted and took to the sky, desperately trying to remember a time of wings held together by muscle, sinew, bones. Instead they were forced to make due with metal and nylon, preposterous utensils for flight. The wind blew stronger and for a second a row of umbrellas inverted and flew, witch black, parallel to a telephone wire. The crows perched atop watched, their beady eyes a glint from the reflection of a shaft of silver. Their silent vigil was broken by the cry of one of their members, which disrupted the concentration of the animated umbrellas and they crashed to the ground all broken and black against the pale cement.
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