Shivering in the twilight, shadows speak of ghosts and scary tales told round the hearth on a long cold winterís eve. They are rabbits and birds played by hand against the wall as the little ones laugh and shout: More da! Do some more!
But in me heart, filled as it is with terrible memories, shadow is danger, and fear and the lingering touch of the dark lordís hand. Shadow is the thought that Elves are leaving us every day, never to return. It is the grief of parting.
Shadow is memory Ė the ghost image of one Iíll never forget.