Grandpa handed A-Zhi the canvas umbrella at the door. She unrolled it and frowned at the blank white canopy.
"It looks like snow," she whispered, setting it on the table beside the paint pots.
She dipped a brush into red and dabbed a dot. The color ran into a thin pink puddle. She sighed and wiped the table.
She squeezed more paint and tried again. Red circles bloomed, yellow dots became buttercups, blue swirls turned into tiny clouds.
Tiny stars appeared between the flowers. She stepped back and blinked. The umbrella was almost full.
She lifted the umbrella and — whoosh — it was so wide she bumped her knee on the chair. She laughed and pushed through the front door.
She stepped into the steady rain and held the umbrella high. The painted flowers and stars shimmered wet and bright.
Under the porch roof, Grandpa stood clapping. "My little garden!" he called, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
A-Zhi grinned and spun the umbrella. Raindrops flew outward like glitter, catching the grey afternoon light.
She ran back to Grandpa and slipped under the porch roof. Water dripped from the umbrella brim in steady drops.
They stood together in the dry warmth while rain ticked against the roof. She leaned against his leg and smiled.
"Next time," she thought, "I'll paint the whole sky."