Can't even call this delicate swatch of nature a toad's umbrella. A toad would only be able to shade a foot and part of a leg under this teensy umbrella. Maybe we could agree to call it an ant awning? You know, a nice shady gathering place for an ant and a few dozen of his closest friends.
What would an ant see from below this awning, besides a human who needs to get out her nice Nikon and quit lazily relying on her phone camera? I think an ant would look up into a grand display of silky, creamy color floating against a brilliant blue sky. Some ants would only look briefly, and they'd grunt grudging approval. Other ants would sigh with delight at the wonders of all those slender lines gracefully curving and falling into fringe at the edges. There might be a few ants who wish they could sit on top and slide down the perfect slope, grabbing onto one of those fringes and dangling until someone could catch them.
Nature's tiniest creations make me see opportunities for my imagination to fly. Untether your imagination from what we're taught to see as reality, and suddenly, the potential for magic explodes upon the scene:
Persephone the Parasol Faerie skipped along the paths running between the blades of grass in the lawn forest, golden scissors in hand. Parasol Faeries can do that, run with scissors because they are so graceful and careful with their steps. They don't "move" as much as they flow with the energy surrounding them. Flowing with the surroundings is what lets them speak Spider, too, by the way. It's important to speak Spider, else you'd never be able to arrange for the silken web fabrics you need for parasol making. Spiders can be a gruff bunch if they think you expect them to do your will. You have to chat them up, flatter them a wee bit, let them decide today would be the perfect day to spin some extra web and donate it to the cause.
Yep, untether that imagination and float your thoughts on the breeze whenever you have the chance... it's good for the soul.