shadows: in flow.

January 25 prompt, “A Writer’s Book of Days.”

Shadows. Not the absence of light but revealing the presence of light unseen.

Shadows. On the wall.

Shadows: suck.

Shadows: People I won’t talk about and experiences I won’t share.

Shadows: Men I’ve known. Men I’ve wished I’d never known.

Shadows: Safety. Ironically.

Shadows: The backdrop that illuminates a bullet fired.

Shadows: Coolness in the sun.

Shadows: The Earth’s cast on the moon, a lunar eclipse.

Shadows: Sensual. Enticing. Seductive. A salve. Where I go to escape life’s cruelties and dangers.

Shadows: Where bad things lurk. Bad people. People who will do you harm and WANT to do you harm. That is the worst of all.

Shadows: Where light tries to reassert itself. Tries to catch your attention. Tries to touch your fingertip. Or take hold of your hand, gently {be gentle!} if you can find trust to reach out and accept that invitation.

Shadows: Of the leaves on the tree where Charlie, the beloved scamp canine of my childhood, lies.

Shadows: In jigsaw puzzles, making challenges of the scenery.

Shadows: The safest place of all because people are bad.

Shadows: A cold cold place where there is no mother. {Just because you are born does not mean you had a mother.}

Shadows: Here I come! when I’m depressed.

Shadows: There I go again, into descent, into isolation of shadows, cold. Yet safe.

Shadows: You’ve been my friend and you’ve been my enemy. You’ve been my nemesis and you’ve been my sole port in a storm.

Shadows: Cast by the brim of a hat on a detective’s head. I endeavor to find out what really happened in the shadows of my childhood.

Shadows: I want to speak of you no more at this moment. I pretend you away for now so I may enjoy and drink in the Arizona sunshine.

“Sorry,” shadows, I’m not letting you clench me tight around the ankles and pull me into your whirlwind dark depths. Not today. Not today. Shadows, go away. Today.


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