On
the windowsill of my small study, there are a few figurines of my literary
heroes (Jane Austen and Charles Dickens, among others), and yesterday morning I
noticed the shadows cast by the figurines on the wall by the morning sunlight.
Not only did I notice the shadows, but I actually studied them for a few
minutes, just watching the way they shook and swayed on the wall as the leaves
outside the window wavered in the morning breezes. There I was, sitting at my
desk, motionless and sort of mesmerized by these small, trembling shadows. The
shadows were nothing, actually, just
short-lived flickerings of light and darkness, but for a few minutes this
morning they were more important than anything I had come to my desk to do.
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