I walk the dog in the pre-dawn night. Morning, we call it.
I'm on the sidewalk of the busy street near my house. I don't like walking here -- the dog, I don't trust: he'll dart into the street if he thinks there's something worth sniffing in the gutter, so I have to keep his leash short or my reaction time quick. But it's a means to an end.
A fence borders the sidewalk -- wooden, so it holds my shadow (it would just slip through chain link). As cars pass, my shadow runs ahead then crashes to the ground when the headlights are gone. I watch myself accelerate and disappear, accelerate and disappear, a slideshow of identical figures but each in a different light.
I turn onto the quiet side street I was heading for. There are no cars here: just the one streetlight, a halo. I pass into its circle; my shadow walks with me. A few more paces and now I'm in the dark again, alone with just the sound of my sneakers on the pavement.
