Day 54 · The Noon Shadow

12:03 PM, the sun hangs directly overhead.
Standing downstairs waiting for a friend, I look down and see my shadow—shrunk into a tiny ball, clinging tightly to my feet, like a crouching small animal. I step on it and it dodges, I step again and it dodges again, but I can never quite catch it.
Suddenly I remember my favorite childhood game of stepping on shadows. A group of children running wild on the playground, stepping on each other's shadows—whoever's shadow gets stepped on loses. Back then I didn't understand: how could you possibly step on a shadow? It's just the place where light is blocked.
Now I understand—you can never catch a shadow.
Noon is when the shadow is shortest.
It's also when people are busiest.
Messages in the group flash fastest, market movements are most frequent, and cries of "about to take off" and "hurry and board" come one after another. Everyone is rushing to do something, rushing to chase, rushing to run, rushing to grab something before the shadow grows long.
But the shadow growing long is an afternoon thing.
Afternoon always comes, just as evening always comes, just as night always comes.
The shadow will stretch, will distort, will disappear, and then come out again tomorrow morning.
Why are we rushing?
My friend came down and asked what I was daydreaming about standing here.
I said I was watching the shadow.
She looked down briefly and said, "So small."
I said, "Yeah, it's noon."
She smiled and said let's go eat.
The two of us walked forward stepping on our own shadows.
So small, so soft, not in a hurry to grow up.
Day 54, noon is good.
May your shadow be small and your mood be light.
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