Chilly wind cut through my light jacket leaving goosebumps under the fleece. Dark clouds galloped across the gray sky. It was blustery. A perfect, Winnie-the-Pooh blustery day. And it was black Friday.

As I crossed the street I noticed something bulky in the grass. A large area rug, the kind sold in local hardware stores, lay in a rumpled heap. The colors were dull, and I couldn’t see much of a pattern. Spattered mud blended with the tan and beige design on a cream background. From one corner a tuff of fringe poked up and waved in the breeze like fingers beckoning me closer. Wrinkles like speed bumps pushed up the surface as if it had been shoved against something solid, like when a child skims a rug over a hardwood floor and crumples it into a wall.

It looked as if it had tumbled off a truck. Or maybe it had simply fallen out of the sky. If someone had been flying it, they had a daunting landing. I pictured trying to guide the carpet through the racing clouds while being caught and tossed about by the gusts of wind, and shivered. No one was around. No footprints. No skidmarks. Perhaps they just hadn’t had time for neat, textbook parking. The bargains and discount deals were waiting.

The holiday shopping season had officially begun. Despite the bad economy, lines of traffic poured into the parking lot. People laden with bags and packages swarmed over the asphalt and I joined the crowd. Christmas music from the 50’s greeted me as we pushed through the mall doors. An elf handed me a sales flyer.

My load of purchases grew heavier and my feet grew tired. A woman in Victorian garb passed by singing Away in a Manger. Behind her trailed a small boy with mud on his shoes. I sat in the café with my shopping bags piled around me like a fortress. A tired Santa had escaped the North Pole Castle and was taking a break at a nearby table. I gulped down my cinnamon roll and gathered up my treasures. A school choir sang me out the door. As soon as it shut behind me, the cold wind hit my face and the music was replaced by one lonely bell. I dropped a dollar in the bucket, and began to search for my car.

The trees had lost their colorful fall splendor, but were now sparkling with twinkling lights. Fir trees wrapped in mesh adorned the roofs of vehicles. Even drab streetlights were festooned with bows and greenery. A van stalked me, expecting to get my vacated parking spot, but I saw my car several rows over. Dashing their hopes, I cut between an SUV and a sports car, and they roared away in disgust.

As I waited for an opening into the line of traffic I thought again of the carpet. It didn’t look like it would ever fly again. If the harsh landing had totaled it, where would the owner buy a new one? It was dirty, but there weren’t any tears or holes where the magic could have leaked out. Maybe the owner could just shake it out and climb on board. Were there hidden straps to keep the bundles and packages from tumbling off, or was that a magic extra only included on luxury models?

I rolled down my window. Faint fragments of Christmas music floated in with the crisp air and blaring horns. Did flying carpets have sound systems? Soaring over the traffic would be a welcome relief, though I think I would prefer a reindeer and a sleigh. I liked the added security of side rails and more room for packages. I’d also add one of those new snuggie blankets with the arms.

A helicopter flew overhead. I rolled up the window, and turned on the radio to get the latest traffic report. Someone waved to me and I eased into line. I think I’ll leave the flying to someone else.