[Something I wrote in my head at the end of last week, cycling home.]
The bright full moon is floating down the river, trembling and fractured by the breeze. A rider's lamp behind me spawns my shadow sister, moving in front of me, solid and hunched against the chill. She weaves left and right, now skimming across the grass, now sliding over the gravel path. I'm fascinated by my projected self, encountering the future ahead of me, but keeping me company on this cold, dark night.
Eventually, the rider passes me. My shadow sister slows then disappears, and I feel a sudden ridiculous pang of loss for something which was just a trick of the light. Despite knowing how she was born, I find myself looking for her for the rest of the journey, wondering if she's around the next corner, or waiting for me in the trees.