The sheltering sky is the blue umbrella of God, and far below this celestial dome summer is a riot of emblazoned parasols. From Bernard Street to City Park, and along the esplanade to Tug-Boat Beach, they lure us with promises of leisure, kinship and sensuous moments.
Beneath these restful covers of shade, aromas of food, coffee and breezy conversations snag the senses and invite the tongue to stop and savour a while. The eyes and mouths of diners pause to delight and refresh themselves under painted cupolas where the laboured march of day dissolves.
The umbrellas of summer are saucy touchstones of prosperity; rendezvous for lovers, businessmen, and visitors whose children do not understand why adults want to eat outside. On bleached sand they are the refuge of bronzed sun-gods, and sanctuary for idle vacationers who have won the right to finally escape into pulp fiction.
These little harbours of tranquility abound on the shores of the lake, sidewalk cafes, and patios by the thousands. They germinate in spring out of winter’s enfoldment and erupt in summer like blooms hungry for the sun. Fresh or faded, they are the season’s complement to barbequed meals; they are cozy oases of intimacy where the stories that bind us are shared.
It is midsummer, and beneath my refuge which tilts toward the brilliant sun, my guests and I laugh and eat and toast our warmth to one another. It is here I realize that these playful, flirty gests, beneath which we lounge, are the handmaids of our companionship. It is under these little dominions that family, friendship and community are nurtured and renewed. So in praise of summer’s umbrellas I raise my glass of VQA and lay another rib on the fire…
This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.