I felt at peace with the world while daydream-ambling up High Street’s sidewalk.

It was past midday and the sun was reliably moving westerly. My shadow was my faithful companion, cast on the side of passing cars, then pavement, then again cars. It was hypnotic. I was almost sleepwalking, watching my shadow flicker on the varied mechanical shapes passing me and the other pedestrians. The drivers had stern expressions, too busy to take note of any pedestrian, let alone their shadows.

Still entranced by my shadow show, I stepped onto the crosswalk from High Street traversing Congress Street. I glanced over my shoulder, looking down Congress Street at my shadow. With a loud honk from the opposite direction, I jumped back in fright.

My momentum took me back-stepping right past the sidewalk; onto my butt in a dim, narrow alley I’d never noticed before.

My faithful shadow was certainly there with me in that dark alley, a reflection off the towering brick wall. My shadow seemed an independent reflection rebelling against its owner, me. I stared in disbelief.

“How did I get back upright?” I uselessly asked my silent, defiant shadow. Glancing down, I was shocked to find my feet and legs were gone, then terrified to find that the rest of me was also missing. I then noticed shadows swiftly passing through that alleyway and disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

Mom warned me: “Always look both ways before crossing. Congress and High is a dangerous intersection.”

John Dow
Windham