The overcast sky

It’s been raining all day and the sky is overcast. I’m walking along the canal tow-path talking to Satyaraja on my mobile. I tell him that after our last phone-call my heart felt like my blown-inside-out umbrella; tattered and ineffectual against the rain. But that I’d rather have that than a heart in a suit of armour. I tell him about the thing with the man. I tell him that Vishvantara said these incidents are like thumb-nail sketches of our lives; miniature versions of the things that really matter to us; enabling us to learn about ourselves because the full feelings don’t overwhelm us. I tell Satyaraja that my love for him is worth the grief of our separation and I’ve stopped walking now and I’m weeping. I ask if he minds that my feelings were so intense around my exchange with the man and he says ‘Why would I mind?’ The sun appears and blesses the watery green and purple gardens on the opposite bank.