Photo by Petr Ganaj
Shadow Dance
Not a single leaf in the forest moves.
Completely quiet, they rest,
still asleep though the sun has risen.
Leaf shadows with perfect edges are “painted”
just a foot or two away from their source—
directly across from the originals.
On tree trunks, leaves and branches they land—
like a sharp-edged imprint from a rubber stamp.
The low spotlight in the sky asks, “Are you ready?”
“The alarm has gone off and I’m awake.
You should be, too.”
Still, no one moves. They want to sleep late.
Ignoring the silence,
the sun continues his work.
Heating. Rising. Penetrating the cool air.
“Wake up!” he cries. “It’s time to get up.”
“I want to dance with you.”
A bird chirps a second alarm.
Then, another.
A light turns on in the house by the woods.
Shadows lengthen; the air heats up.
A breeze is born.
Reluctantly, the forest awakens
and the shadow dance begins.
© 2026 gratefulsue
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Isn’t it delightful to watch shadows dance? When the wind kicks up, the images of leaves and branches can blur together, as if in a hurricane, or look like gray pencil scratchings on a wall. Once the wind dies down to a more gentle strength, leaf shadows can move more like marionette puppets with precision steps, back and forth, back and forth..
Conversely, when the wind is completely still, I’ve seen both large and small leaf shadows, plant their images on rocks, tree trunks, and buildings. One might think these razor-sharp images have been applied with a stencil.