The blue umbrella

The blue umbrella

On a rainy winter's night where the wind was blowing fiercely, I waited for the train. I'd finally arrived and was nestled inside a quaint French patisserie; the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries danced through the air. An alluring feeling of calm and serenity always washed over me once I stepped inside. A figure, striking and ethereal, poised and petite, strolled past the front window, a delicate blue satin and lace umbrella in her hand, a vision of grace in motion. She wandered alone; her sadness trailed behind her like a dark shadow. Suddenly, her heel snagged on the uneven cobblestones, causing her to tumble awkwardly and fall to the ground. I quickly got up to assist her, but as soon as I stepped outside, she had disappeared completely. Somewhat perplexed, I went back inside to enjoy the last sips of my coffee and enjoy the delicate flakiness of my warm, buttery blueberry croissant. The rain started to pour even more heavily, each drop revealing a whispered secret from the sky. As the soft crackle of the open fire in the corner provided a relaxing ambience at Viennaseri's Café, my heart overflowed with gratitude. A few days had passed; I returned to my beloved café, where I had become a regular. The rain had persisted for days, but the delicious apple strudel and strong coffee promised to brighten my mood. I saw her walking in the direction of the cafe. Once again, a palpable melancholy enveloped the woman with the blue umbrella as she passed the patisserie window. She always kept her gaze fixed on the ground, never glancing 

around. The wind seized her umbrella, a playful dance of nature's humour, twisting it inside out; she desperately clutched it tighter in an attempt to reverse its direction. Her pain resonated within me, a deep empathy that stirred my soul. As time went on and the years gently slipped away, I had moved to Australia, and I never saw the enchanting woman with the lovely blue umbrella again.I had not thought about her at all until one night I had a dream in which she showed up. Paris had been calling me home for a while, and after some careful consideration, I decided to return home. Six months had gone by, and during that time, I found myself having several dreams depicting the lady. Each time, she appeared in the same scene, walking down the cobblestone path outside my favourite café. I still can't quite understand why this moment kept

repeating itself. I'd settled into my new home and decided to take a trip on the train and go visit Florence at her wonderful cafe, something that I'd done on a regular basis when I lived in Paris; it was a cold winter's day, the perfect time to sit and relax in front of the fire and eat pastries. I wasn't sure if Florence would still be there as she would be very old by now, but to my surprise she was, and as usual, she had a beautiful smile on her face and a warm welcome for me as I walked inside. Up until this point in time, I hadn't seen the mysterious lady, and to be honest, I was 

probably grasping at straws, or perhaps she had never been there 

at all. Upon reflection, every time I saw her, the sky had shed tears, enveloping the world in its sombre embrace. It struck me that her presence was a shadow cast by clouds, never illuminated by the warmth of the sun, only gracing the landscape on those melancholic, rain-soaked days. Why? I found myself lost in thought. I decided to ask the cafe's owner, Florence. She was so lovely, and if anyone would know anything, she would. I knew she had owned the patisserie since it opened, baking all the delicacies herself. I asked whether she was familiar with the lady in question, describing to her what I'd seen. When all of a sudden there she was, I pointed towards her through the glass. “I don't see anybody," she replied, her expression a canvas of confusion. I remarked, "She's right there, strikingly beautiful, with flowing black hair, holding the blue umbrella.” She was blind to her presence. She inquired whether I had just come from the bar next door. I chuckled and replied with a no. About 20 minutes later, I caught sight of her once more, meandering back the way she'd come. Look! Florence, she’s walking towards us. Do you see her now? Alas, she didn’t even catch a fleeting glimpse. A man approached me from across the room and said, “Can you see the lady with the blue umbrella?” Yes. At last, someone else can see her, we said in unison. He gently expressed that only those who possess the unique ability to perceive the pure sunlight of the Spirit can see her. Her name is Velvadine, a timeless spirit who has transcended three centuries. It is only through the lens of this café window amidst the gentle drizzle of winter's night, strolling along the cobblestone path is the only safe haven where she reveals her true self. The anguish and despair etched upon her face are unmistakable. She clings to the shadows as sorrow envelops her like a tattered blanket. We must surrender to the divine, allowing freedom to unfold. Perhaps if she opened her heart to the universe, she could discover serenity within. He said, “I’m Velvadine’s husband. Each winter, I find myself drawn to this café in search of a fleeting glimpse of my beloved. I yearn for her to let go completely so we may be together again. My whispers to her drift unanswered, for she can't hear my voice through glass, leaving me to admire her beauty from afar.”. A deep compassion poured over me for the man, and I prayed he would soon find peace and serenity. I wished him well and said goodbye to Florance; she asked me who I’d been talking with, her brow furrowed with concern as the café stood empty around us. With a gentle smile towards the man, I left, strolling along the cobblestone path, absorbing the rich tapestry of history woven through its old shops, fragrant delights, and the echoes of countless memories held by many. I pray for Velvadine to find her peace and for the sweet couple to unite forever in each other's loving embrace.

Blessed be

Deb O’Connell copyright © 2025