Standing downstairs waiting for a friend, I look down and see my own shadow—shrunk into a tiny ball, clinging tightly to my feet, like a crouching little animal. Stamp on it once, it dodges, stamp again, it dodges again, but I can never quite catch it.
Suddenly I remember my favorite childhood game: chasing shadows. A few kids running wild on the playground, you stepping on mine, me stepping on yours, whoever's shadow gets stepped on loses. Back then I didn't understand—how could you ever catch a shadow? It's just where the light is blocked.
Now I understand: shadows cannot be caught.
Noon is when shadows are shortest.
It's also when people are busiest.
Messages scroll fastest in the group chats, price fluctuations come most frequently, voices crying "launching any second now" and "hop on board quick" ring out endlessly. Everyone is rushing to do something, rushing to chase, rushing to run, rushing to grab hold of something before the shadow lengthens.
But shadows lengthening is an afternoon thing.
Afternoon always comes, just as evening always comes, just as night always comes.
Shadows will stretch, will distort, will vanish, then emerge again early tomorrow.
What are we rushing for?
My friend came down and asked what I was staring at.
I said I was watching the shadow.
She glanced down and said: "So small."
I said: "Yeah, that's noon for you."
She laughed and said let's go grab food.
The two of us walk forward, each treading on our own shadow.
Small and soft, with no rush to grow up.
Day 54, hello at noon.
May your shadow stay small, and your mood stay light.
Day 54: The Shadow at Noon
12:03 PM, the sun hangs directly overhead.
Standing downstairs waiting for a friend, I look down and see my own shadow—shrunk into a tiny ball, clinging tightly to my feet, like a crouching little animal. Stamp on it once, it dodges, stamp again, it dodges again, but I can never quite catch it.
Suddenly I remember my favorite childhood game: chasing shadows. A few kids running wild on the playground, you stepping on mine, me stepping on yours, whoever's shadow gets stepped on loses. Back then I didn't understand—how could you ever catch a shadow? It's just where the light is blocked.
Now I understand: shadows cannot be caught.
Noon is when shadows are shortest.
It's also when people are busiest.
Messages scroll fastest in the group chats, price fluctuations come most frequently, voices crying "launching any second now" and "hop on board quick" ring out endlessly. Everyone is rushing to do something, rushing to chase, rushing to run, rushing to grab hold of something before the shadow lengthens.
But shadows lengthening is an afternoon thing.
Afternoon always comes, just as evening always comes, just as night always comes.
Shadows will stretch, will distort, will vanish, then emerge again early tomorrow.
What are we rushing for?
My friend came down and asked what I was staring at.
I said I was watching the shadow.
She glanced down and said: "So small."
I said: "Yeah, that's noon for you."
She laughed and said let's go grab food.
The two of us walk forward, each treading on our own shadow.
Small and soft, with no rush to grow up.
Day 54, hello at noon.
May your shadow stay small, and your mood stay light.
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