It gathers in silence, in the recesses of thought, where even shadow does not reach with its arm. It opens a window – cracked, barely cling...

It gathers in silence, in the recesses of thought, where even shadow does not reach with its arm. It opens a window – cracked, barely clinging to life, in which every view is now just a guess. Where the endless tunnel ends, it waits, like the shadow of forgotten light,

oil painting by James Gurney