indi

a sliver of sky

the sky is always there, beyond my computer. some instinct of mine, first thing in the morning straight after i wake up and make my way to the day, i come here to my corner and lift the latch of the window, push the frosted glass pane slightly, it swings back. and the sky is there.

a narrow triangle of it, lacework of leaves and branches across, but still.

along with the sounds of cars from the road and flyover outside, i hear calls of birds. not a lot, but there are a few warblers around. the other day a long sweet coo. was it a koel? i’m almost relieved i can’t check on google.

but you can check, says over active mind. record the sound, and ask the baron; simple. the baron knows bird calls. he knows everything. before there was google, there was always the baron.

i blink. and let the thoughts drizzle away. there is no baron, just that mind conjuring things. maybe everything is conjured by the mind?

i look up at the grey, now opaque, firmament. a light shower pours. does my mind make up the sky? isn’t it there? anyway. even if i don’t see or feel or imagine it?

what tells us what’s real, what’s not? what is real anyway? just the bit we see through our triangle view?

if someone else were seeing through some other window, another triangle or rectangle or square opening out, what would they see? would their reality and mine match?

the sound of a horn from the road. i am distracted for a moment. and the mind whispers. what?

the sky will be there.

yes, it will. i agree.

why do i know that? why no uncertainty about it?

i search for an answer. quickly flipping through many memories, conclusions, deductions, experiences, intimations, delusions. no answer. no good answer, that is.

maybe i should ask the baron. i sigh.

the sky is grey and silent and watching me.

 

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