Day Fifty-Four · 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—shrunken into a tiny ball, clinging tightly to my feet like a crouching small animal. I step on it, it dodges, I step again, it dodges again, but I can never actually step on it.
Suddenly I remember my favorite childhood game of stepping on shadows. A few kids running wild on the playground, I step on yours, you step on mine, whoever's shadow gets stepped on loses. Back then I didn't understand—how could you step on a shadow? It's only 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 flash fastest in the group chat, market fluctuations are most frequent, all kinds of "about to take off" and "hurry and jump in" shouts come one after another. Everyone rushes to do something, rushes to chase, rushes to run, rushes to grab something before the shadow grows long.
But shadows growing long is an afternoon thing.
Afternoon always comes, just as evening always comes, night always comes.
Shadows will stretch, deform, disappear, then emerge again early tomorrow.
What are we rushing for?
My friend comes downstairs and asks what I'm doing standing here daydreaming.
I say I'm watching the shadow.
She glances down and says: "So small."
I say: "Yeah, it's noon after all."
She smiles and says let's go eat.
The two of us walk forward, each stepping on our own shadow.
So small, so soft, no rush to grow up.
Day Fifty-Four, noon is good.
May your shadow be small, your mood be light.
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