I've been working late (yet again) and thinking about shadows. Also, Annette (who is in Melbourne consorting with artists, street artists and studio artists - imagine that for a moment) read me something intriguing about shadows.
There is the visual take on this: dark and light, the mingling and emerging of one and the other, the moving edges. There is also the sound. There's a little edge in the midst of the word but the consonant 'd' is tempered by its surroundings, the 'a' and 'ow' and the sibiliance. To me, it is a low pitched word.
Shadow is the artist's friend, especially artists working with film.
It is also about time, which is what a poem is working with.
Me and my shadow, but forget the avenue. We're putzing around the slightly cool old house tonight. So, on our ownsome if not our lonesome.
I am a bit dark at the moment but people, kindly, have been trying to talk me through it. It's of no particular moment in the great scheme of things, so no need to go into the reasons, more my own disappointment with myself. And that what I wanted was something I also wanted for some other people as well. Lah lah, way it goes.
Hence, thinking about poems and time and shadows - movement and seeing/not quite seeing.