My shadow gave me a carriage house filled with yellow light.

He brought me in a big bed that Vincent van Gogh once slept in back in 1888 that came from Arles, France.

My shadow brought me two of my favorite paintings by Paul Cezanne, “The Cardplayers” and “Still Life with Apples.”

My shadow brought me in a yellow tree made by some children with yellow chalk on butcher paper. Over time it was magically liberated from it’s paper to become free standing.

My shadow gave me a jug lamp that my mother made for me when I was a baby. He brought it up from the basement, and then dusted it off. It once had held the Chianti she drank to celebrate my birth.

My shadow made me a view of Appalachia in the springtime, when the hills have just turned green and roll back endlessly into time.

My shadow brought me all of this before he walked away from me.