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While walking through the invulnerable light of July, I come to a stop at an intersection and am promptly arrested by my own shadow. The shadow is cast ahead and askew in lockstep with specters of my surroundings as presently framed. My former self, the one who has at times impressed me, seems absent. And as I turn to check, indeed, the ground behind me is baked bare. Meanwhile, my future self is visible but obtuse. The details of my life tomorrow remain unclear to me, and yet they are contained within this future shadow self. Ambitions and fears ever entwined and cast ahead. My shadow self awaits my arrival so that we can get on with the demands of the living and the loved.
If someone becomes a shadow of their former self, does their new shadow self cast its own shadow? And if so, does the tertial shadow fall ahead, behind, or saunter alongside this precious moment? The crossroads here has so little to do with time writ large; my former self is but an apparition. One must refill the well and push toward light of dusk, when shadows grow tall and sure, then disappear completely.