Running from Shadows

Running from Shadows

The air is crisp. A chill breeze whispering of the winter to come ruffles my hair. I start my watch. With a slow trot that builds, I run along the sidewalks of my neighborhood. I begin to feel good.

Guided by lamplight, I switch from sidewalk to street. I accelerate. Giddy, almost intoxicated, I run faster.

Racing now, wind at my back, I glance down and see my shadow cast long by the streetlights. In it, I see a competitor from races past.

First, I chase it. Then it chases me. Laughing, I realize the race has always been with myself.

So I ease up, content that tonight—at least—I’ve given it my all. I slow to a trot. Back on the sidewalk, I walk to a stop at a lamp post and stretch.

Hands on the cold metal, I look down and watch a cluster of leaves swirl at my feet. For a moment, my shadow mingles with them.

A chill runs through me. I feel the passage of time. Among those leaves, I see myself: a creature destined to fall and rot away. In a hundred years, there will be nothing left—no trace that I ever existed. I will be as forgotten as those leaves. Swept away by the winds of time.

A cold sweat prickles my skin. I start running.

Wind in my face, along empty streets, on a starless night, I run from myself.