I crave the sun. I thirst for it, like a junkie needing his fix. Or his eyes go all wonky and his hands shake…or whatever it is that happens--but a fix all right, this walking in the scorching sun, walking as my skin warms and then sizzles and tans, and my brain makes whatever connections it does to energize my day like a shot of electricity. I thirst for it, like the green that lines the track, chlorophyll coming to life as sunlight seeps in, nourishing, validating a reason for its existence. I think of Karna, paying homage, arghya, to the Sun by the lazy waters of the Ganges. And then walking back, bronze-rippled even as the Sun coasted overhead, aloof but watching. I think of the wife of the Sun god who’d created a shadow personae, Chaya, because she couldn’t withstand his brilliance. And mostly I think of the play of light and dark, and the unending cycle of seasons, and lifetimes.