Shadow

I rest a little

under the magnolia tree

casting my own shadow,

so that it may be still,

and not steel from my

joy, anger, and excitement.

Through my stillness, I sense

the sun rays on my skin,

breezed strands

of hair across my cheeks,

and the cold in my feet

as I grasp the heat

of action and reaction

of early Fall,

black bowed, wide brimmed

straw hat, white t-shirt

chanting a melody

without sound,

swaying without movement,

not dishonouring

who I truly am,

not plucking my own

being out of itself.

The being who craves

for the sunset to show me

the true colour of the moment:

violet, orange, or turquoise blue.

The shadow of the being

I am supposed to be.

A Johnson

Photograph by Annie Spratt, Unsplash