If my shadow is the only one who will walk with me, then yesterday's sky, gunmetal heavy clouds intimidating the sun into hiding, doesn't bode well. Nor today's cold hard rain, nor tomorrow's lurking fog. Looking up into it, eyes set harsh against interminable mist, I might be as empty as that sky. That's the easy answer: blame the medium, critique the instrumentation, all bleak perfection and completely oblivious. The words in that milieu are the important pieces, the empathy behind them drawing the line between toying and sincerity, like a camera shutter closes and irrevocably separates there from here. But there you remain, adrift in your pretty little there, so from from here. The forecast calls for rain; no shadow walks beside me.