I have always had a love affair with shadows. I find wonder and enjoyment in them. They seem to be a soft and gentle reflection of the shape of life itself.
There is a circular window at my church. It opens up in the trees where birds and squirrels go through their daily antics. This lovely window casts an everchanging circle – or sometimes an oval – on the floor. I have often found myself lost in its shadows.
I especially relish plant shadows. It’s a reminder that, even if not immediately visible, there is plant life nearby and echoes of life in the air, thanks to the fresh oxygen supplied by this rousing vegetation.
My plumeria dances on the board fence at varied times of day, but most endearingly in the early evening, powered by the street light. When I’m in tropical climes I rejoice in the light-footed dancing I see on the sidewalks as I saunter among the palms.
Then in the piney woods, I’m amazed at the bowing of the pines, before, during, and after their lively swaying. I refer to this as the dancing of the trees. Almost any plant has a dance if observed a while in shadow. Grass and even weeds can be discovered in great detail in shadow on an evening walk.
When I see shadows I don’t recognize, I still find wonder and enjoyment in them. They help me think as I strive to be in sync with the world I live in. After being lost in their hues and magical variations of shade, I rouse to realize I’ve found my stillness and can go on with my day in peace with the world.
Copyright by Hildra Tague. Contact author for permission to use online or in print.