What the Shadows Say.
A man needs no timepiece, no calendar when he can read what the shadows say. When I was a child I built a sundial in my grandmother's garden. She regularly dismantled it not wanting stones among the lilies. So I built a clock out of leaves and branches and soon saw how time seemed to change with the seasons. In our fields I told time by the shadows of our sheep. Best I loved noon in the summer when the dumb things stood hot and still and stupid and made almost no shade at all. I took a stick and shook it and watched them run barely darkening the grass beneath their feet. Later I learned how to draw the analemma how it takes the whole year to do it to make a chart of the sun's path by plotting the shadow of a peg on the windowsill against the unmoving wall. It's like 8-shaped infinity that shadow and where it stops is always where it starts. So a man who reads shadows needs no calendar, no clock, though the hours, the days pass from him, too and the final shadows wait for him and the sun spins away and its patterns mark the place of his grave.
ROSEMARY AUBERT is a Canadian poet whose works have appeared in journals, anthologies, and collections for many years. she is also a novelist, the mystery author whose Ellis Portal series has attained international acclaim.
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|Date:||Jun 22, 2016|
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