“Shadows were too black, and when a breeze stirred the trees, the shadows changed in a disquieting way.”

“and the rain went rollin down the windowpanes, and the shadows wiggled n' squiggled on her check and forehead like black veins.”

“Thin clouds form, and the shadows lengthen out. They have no breadth, as summer shadows have; there are no leaves on the trees or fat clouds in the sky to make them thick. They are gaunt, mean shadows that bite the ground like teeth. As the sun nears the horizon, its benevolent yellow begins to deepen, to become infected, until it glares an angry inflamed orange. It throws a variegated glow over the horizon.”

“What comes in when daylight leaves is a kind of certainty: that beneath the skin there is a secret, some mystery both black and bright. You feel this mystery in every breath, you see it in every shadow, you expect to plunge into it at every turn of a step.”

“Outside, a gusty October breeze was combing leaves from the trees and sending them across her backyard in colorful skitters.”

“Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.”

“I see things, that's all. Write enough stories and every shadow on the floor looks like a footprint; every line in the dirt like a secret message.”