notebook draft: one random line

She is only shadow. Contrary to common belief, a shadow is fixed to no one thing; a shadow is actually fluid but discrete, which is why sometimes one's shadow appears plum and kind, while at others, even under precisely the same conditions of light, time and place, shifty and black. They hop us like trains. Today she is the shadow of a shepherd; his heavy hooded cape makes her heavy and strong; the curve of his long standing spine turns her out calligraphic over the pretty dusk hills, and the backs of his sheep, and now, at the end of the day, as though she were alive, her stature gives her pride.

[A writing group experiment: the final line was selected at random from a random novel, to serve as inspiration for three minutes of writing].