I regress.

A gentle breeze whispers through trees. Myriad shadows dance madly in twilight. Above, soft, humming street lamps beckon. Hearken our call! Look around you! Marvel! The world is revealed!

I am alone. And alive. This melody. Touches me. Crickets chirp, though it is late in the year and far too cold. A moth flutters about, lured from sleep by a few scattered, and unusually, warm days.

My path is short. Pre-determined. I wander it's way as I have. Worlds shift. From man to mind. From their's to my own. From light to shadow.

The heavy metal door is opened quietly. I step into darkness, close it behind me, fumble in the ink well for a power cord, which I find and plug into the extension which stretches far and away across the yard. I find the button and press, finding no warmth nor joy as the fluorescent lamp struggles to life, bathing my form and this tiny metal building in a cool, surreal glow.

I drop into the chair; lean back; relax. Shiver. It is very cold. My breath lingers before my face. The warmth escapes me through my cheeks and my privates. The cold seeps in. Icy fingers. Searching.

I look to the drawing board before me, at the unfinished portrait which lies there; has lain there for weeks. And I sigh.