Feminine intent permeates my dreams most often through attempts to use sex to direct my attention. As politics never lurks far behind, I have evolved a policy of deflection.

This made space, this morning, for my eldest son. We were traveling independently but chanced to meet on the platform of a rail station. The banter unfolded around the interaction between technology and society, until we noticed that we were surrounded by identical passengers, and he quipped, “Won’t it be so irritating when they start breaking out a Capella in perfect pitch?”

My vision turned towards the pedestrians visible through the windowed barricade. His left leg had been resting, child-like, atop mine. There was a shift in personal energy, and a familiar feminine presence suggested, “Look at them.” It was a family of Hindus making their way towards a clothing shop. Curiosity piqued, I focused on the goods. She offered, her lips hovering over my ear, “We can go there.”

No longer afraid.

I rose and turned to my left, reaching down to aid her in standing. The luminous face rose, before passing past my view. Her arms joined around my neck as she nestled against me.

I embraced her, my misery washing through me. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve missed you so much.”

After allowing that moment to resolve, she turned to address the ladies on my periphery. “See: there’s a man in there. You have to hold your ground.”

But, no, as it finally became clear, it’s that my heart is committed in service to you, dear one.