There are no shadows here. Everything is grey. Colors abound elsewhere but not here. Even in the light of day, the trees blow and sway but fail to liven up the place. People walk. People talk. But they do not feel, hear or take stock. What ought to be known will be told. Despite whether or not it’s cold. For to determine a sense for the self, an acknowledgement of others must be felt. But there are no shadows here. Presumably, that means that there is no one else.