@johnjgeddes, ‘sheltered/ as a hothouse flower’ is good. This is the power of poetry, to imagine another —but it is also a double-edged sword ... since it’s a reminder of how we presume/judge without knowing.
Who’s to say that, despite her appearance, your well groomed protagonist is not, in fact, a connoisseur of ‘rain and pain’?
As Transtromer suggests in these lines from “The Scattered Congregation”:
“We got ready and showed our home.
The visitors thought: you live well.
The slum must be inside you.”
thanks for your response, Yahia. I was actually implying the above - perhaps, I was too subtle in portraying the narrator's attempt to get inside the woman's head but the turning point occurs when he asks, 'What, if anything, goes through her brain' and then is given a vision of dull grey days culminating with her being driven to despair and walking out into the lake to drown. This frequently happens to depressed people in Toronto, and I may have assumed the allusion was clear. Sh'e not just a connoisseur of rain and pain, but also a victim.
Thank you for your thoughtful reply.
Aha, forgive me, my presumption... and thanks for taking the time/care to walk me through that. Art on, my friend!