WRITING & REALITY: Shadows

All the years they told you not to be afraid. Teased your own timidity with fear of your own shadow. Lies, because you need to be afraid.

Morning looks too peaceful, but you understand what’s going on. Shadows long and reaching from the sun. Twenty times reality, advancing from the east, they stretch across the lawn, claim what’s theirs no longer, what they’d stolen in the night. Specters of themselves, their blackness grey with morning light. Wearily, they weaken; you can watch them, they retreat. High sun at noon has all but killed them; bodies lying under bushes, trees, against a northern wall.

The day wears on, lost in sunlight confidence, unaware of plotting, planning, scheming to attack. Regrouping in the west, swelling back to power, the shadows infiltrate and slowly march back on the battlefield. At dusk another struggle, fierce and quicker with the seasons. General Sun directs his troops who vainly grip the earth, losing ground, withdrawing with the fight. The shadows are much stronger, backed by Moon, and daylight must surrender to its foe. The battle cry of whippoorwills rings out in sad refrain.

Sometime between the dusk and night, the shadows claim the earth.