Shadows Along the Stem

The sun does not stay bright from dawn to dusk; clouds drift and darken, cool the air to husk. Long shadows stretch and cling where I have grown, trace every line and bend I’ve ever known. They follow up from roots to golden head, whispering of the things I’ve had to dread — of lonely nights, of promises unkept, of all the tears I silently have wept. But shadows only show where sunlight falls; they do not break the stem or scale its walls. I learn to lean, to turn, to shift my place, let light return and warm my upturned face. What falls behind cannot outshine the gold — I rise above the stories that were told. With every shadow, stronger still I stand, rooted deep in this familiar land.