Shadowhunters: The return of light and the dance of shadows
For days, maybe even weeks, the world outside my door had been a dull canvas, painted in shades of grey. The sun, it seemed, had forgotten about us. And with it, I had lost something, my shadow
Shadows are more than just an absence of light. They are proof of presence, a whisper of existence cast onto the world. But in the thick of winter, when the sky folds into itself and light is swallowed by clouds, I often feel their absence. As if a part of me is missing, hidden away in the folds of a season that lingers too long.
And then, today, the sun returned.
I didn’t even have to step outside to notice it. Just by opening the front door, I felt the shift. The air, crisp but alive, carried the golden promise of light. It poured in, stretching long fingers across the ground, illuminating forgotten corners, and there, there was my shadow, waiting.
Stepping into the sunlight felt like a reunion. I moved, and it followed, tall, elongated, as if it, too, had been waiting to stretch and breathe. The world became a playground of contrasts. The sturdy bollards lining the path cast dark, angular shapes on the pavement, standing like silent sentinels of light and dark. Trees, still bare from winter’s grip, threw intricate lace patterns onto the grass, and a lone mooring post by the water stretched its shadow so far that it seemed to double in presence.
I stood still, watching, feeling. Shadows are our silent companions, unnoticed in their loyalty until they disappear. And when they return, we remember. We remember that even in the darkest seasons, light is always waiting on the other side.
Today, I walked with my shadow again. And in doing so, I found a part of myself that had been missing.
To those who seek the shadows, who notice their presence and absence alike, may you always find the light that calls them back.