Glass in the Wind

My shadow stands straight up, dusts itself off, and then starts a long slow circle.  I can feel it staring into me.  Rudy’s growling at my heel.

I don’t move.  The shadow (is it still mine?) tilts its head, and speaks in a voice like glass in the wind.  “We have such capacity for pain.  Joy and pleasure crash in waves on us and then pass, but pain?  We endure so much of it.  If we let it, it makes a home in us.”

It extends a finger, touches my chest.  The cold seeps through me; the light grows dim.

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