Grandpa handed Azy a plain white oil-paper umbrella. She opened it with a soft rustle. She tilted it toward the sunlight.
Azy held the umbrella up and looked at it. It was so plain. She frowned. What could she do with it?
Azy set up her paints on the table. She arranged jars, brushes, and sponges. Ready to begin.
She pressed, squished, and swiped. A yellow star appeared. Then a blue dot. Then a green scribble.
Azy pressed too hard. A red streak smudged across the white sky. Oh no!
Azy gasped. She covered her mouth with her paint-freckled fingers.
Azy picked up another sponge. She dabbed bright orange flowers right over the red streak. Then purple vines curled between them.
The umbrella began to look like a garden. Azy stepped back and admired her work.
Grandpa walked out of the house and stopped in the doorway.
Azy lifted the finished umbrella high above her head. Look, she thought.
Grandpa's eyes went wide. He could not stop smiling.
He laughed out loud. He clapped his hands and spun around under the painted canopy.