It is shadows we fear.

Virginia Woolf wrote: “I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.”

SHADOWLAND BY NANCY AVERY DAFOE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 29

Hair flying, arms extended, bodies fluid, we merged—your shadow and mine—when you ran past. Tapping the tips of your fingers together in sign language for wanting more, you were asking to see again your own dark figure. You looked up with just a hint of concern, presaging worry, asking without asking the adult in front of you. I said, “Take a step back.” You did, and your shadow returned. You threw your short arms straight up.

When I changed direction, you—in your navy blue wool coat and mint green, star jester hat—ran after my shadow until you realized that yours was nowhere to be seen: a sudden disappearance at an imaginary line. You stopped. I saw alarm in your blue eyes, turned you around, and then witnessed such delight.

If all goes well, I would love to discuss symbolism of adumbrations with you some day because we will conceivabl…