Shadows and Reflections   Stirring on the couch this August afternoon, a big log breaking open in the stove, I wake to reflections in the cabinet’s glass, of sloping roofs, a line of winter trees stripped to the bone and shivering in the breeze, one branch brushing lightly against the window. I could, with a pane of frosted glass, transform that gesture into art: the kind I’ve seen in sunrooms when I’ve stepped in from the snow: iced-windows like a Chinese folding screen on which was spread, like ink, a delicate shadow. Glancing from my book, I’d note the stages…