Shadows

In the courtyards of Vrindavan, especially on hot afternoons, shadows come down to talk to each other. They mill about, feeling somewhat secure, comfortable. The harsh afternoon trickles through the cracks of windows and heavily carved wooden doors. The precarious baazaar of shadows inaugurates itself as the world around them goes to rest briefly.

I find, in reading texts, there are shadows of the author’s actual conversation with the reader that hides behind the lines printed in thick black ink of ant-like letters. Something else is going on between authors and readers that needs the veneer of text to actually play out its own drama. The drama of shadows.

Light comes in as a necessary facade for the black market of shadows to enact itself.

[Lightly edited excerpt from my Substack. April 2025.]