The Shadow

The Shadow lays lazily, melting into the once soft ground. The air is almost still.

The Shadow is calm. It knows that it doesn't need to hurry like the wind or move like the bugs or dance like the leaves.

No, The Shadow knows as a dead tree it doesn't need to do much. All it has to do is avoid the sun's burning touch.

It almost feels sorry for its friends, having to be animals or leaves, almost always moving. But deep inside, it feels something.

The Shadow wonders what it could be. Could it be sadness? Happiness? Longing?

The Shadow remembers how once, it too had leaves that waved in the wind. How it used to see all of its friends all the time. How it used to be a hub of life.

But now, The Shadow is the picture of dilapidation, a graying stump in the snow.

The Shadow thinks back to all of its good times and sighs. But it knows it can never go back.

The Shadow remains laying, melting into the once soft ground.