Dark shadows morph into giant abstractions of themselves, extinguishing every candle and lamppost in its wake. A big blanket that soars in its blackness. The fireplace crackles and hisses, the flames grow tall (like a Bunsen Burner), taking my hands and playing shadow puppets against the wall. Jekyll and Hyde – Shadow creatures of the night where nothing is swell and I’m racing against time; A pocketwatch, and old grandfather clock. I can smell the stone and dirt and wood. In the forest alone, encased in a din of shadow. This otherworldly grey demon that mimics our every move. Can we trust it? Child-like amusement somehow grows into very real adult terror. Paranoia in a bowling alley. Strikes and Turkeys and Spares. To cast a shadow of a doubt is to incriminate in a court of law. I hear the wooden gavel, the scraping of the chairs as we stand as the judge enters. “The Shadowlands” by Ryan Adams is the only song I really liked by him, that I feel into sort of after a period of grief. Too bad his track record isn’t that great. Criminality. Unzippering the folds of my mouth to tell a secret.