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The winter sun strums its tune
Upon my body – in fact my back,
Hurrying home from a weekly walk
Through the woods with my dogs today.
I feel alone with my solitary self
Inhabiting my body blocking the sunlight.
But now – starting at my feet –
Slouching at the selfsame speed,
Reaching upward to my head,
A shadow follows me, or rather
I am following the silent shadow.
I ask who it is, what it wants,
It does not answer; well, though,
What can you expect from a somber shadow,
A fickle filter of the sun, a symbol?
It's not true at all that
“I think, therefore I am.” - but:
“I am in my brooding body.”
The positive proof is that
It casts a silent shadow.
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