The empty box-bottom lies upside down, nestled in the upside-down lid. Plum outside, a shade to make one salivate at the thought of summer fruit yet to come. The inside white, unblemished like fresh snow. But the shadows across that white field are what draw my eye. A roof line, straight and firm on the left -- but wait, on the far edge a slight smudging of shade. On the right, two triangles, one opaque, one more translucent, then below a circle of shadow protecting a small fetus of white light. As our dark sides, our shadows, protect our light, our love, our better selves.
As I stand my ground to protect what I truly am inside and never ever let it be taken away, I draw my own shadows around to watch over me.
Outside the box, thin lines of dark across smooth, smooth blond wood grain of the table top. Above, shadows of another object; to the side a thin line and below a heavy shadow base on which to rest. Rest. Rest. Rest on solid ground.
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