The Prompt
Shadowing

I sometimes feel a little uneasy about that imagined self of mine - the Me of my daydreams - who leads a melodramatic life of his own, out of all relation to my real existence. So one day I shadowed him down the street. He loitered for awhile, and then stood at a shop window and dressed himself out in a gaudy tie and yellow waistcoat... Logan Pearsall Smith, Trivia 1918

Shadow yourself within Lemuria and observe as much as possible about yourself.

A Response from Vi Jones
Crepuscular rays created by the sunrise and filtering through the window awakened me. Too lovely to lay about, I thought, so I got up and showered, the stream of water chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

I stepped out into the street and, following a woman who was ahead of me, boarded the first bus. I moved toward the back of the crowded transport and hung on the strap as the vehicle rocked and swayed. Since I had nothing better to do, I though it would be fun to follow the woman and see where she would lead me – sort of a Day in the Life adventure.

We changed routes at the town square and boarded another bus. This one was empty except for a couple of teens sitting in the rear and clutching colorful kites. I took a seat directly behind the woman. She was rather attractive in a natural sort of way. Her neck length salt and pepper hair waved easily over her collar, insisting as it were on it’s own styling. She wore blue jeans, a colorful, lightweight sweater over a turtleneck tee, and carried a blue daypack with a light windbreaker threaded through the straps.

We got off at the beach. I waited at a discreet distance while she sat on the cool sand and removed her shoes and socks. With her socks stuffed inside, she laced her shoes together and tied them to a pack strap. I waited patiently, staring at the horizon and trying to not be intrusive, as she rolled her jeans up to just below the knee. She hadn’t noticed me yet which was a good thing, for how would I explain my shadowing her?

When she removed her graduated dark glasses and looked my way, I was stunned by the intensity and depth of her brown eyes from the corners of which squint wrinkles spread like miniature cobwebs. She wore tiny dolphin earrings and around her neck, a silver chain. I smiled awkwardly, but she seemed not to notice me.

She drank some water from a bottle strapped to her pack, then headed toward the surf with a lighthearted step. There were few people on the beach; a couple exercising their dog, an old man walking head down as if afraid of the expanse of Nature that surrounded him, and two middle aged women who marched as if to the sound of bagpipes. My quarry waved to the women and took off down the beach at a clip. I had to move to keep up, but keep up I did.

She stopped suddenly and dropped to her knees to examine something she had spotted in the sand, a shell, I think. After studying it for several minutes, she took a journal from her pack and proceeded write and to draw the shell, picking it up for closer study, then setting it down again, as carefully as if she were handling a priceless work of art. When done, she took the shell to the water’s edge and rinsed it off before holding it high, presenting it as a gift to the mist-adorned sun. Her lips moved, perhaps in prayer. Then, at the water’s edge, she laid the shell carefully on the hard packed sand and photographed it before the surf wrapped it in its embrace. She turned quickly, sending me a smile before continuing her journey of exploration while aware of my existence in her world.

She continued along the beach, strolling, skipping, walking briskly, but stopping frequently to look at this or that, until she came upon some driftwood; trunks they were, from some distant forest. She sat on the sand, and using the bleached wood as backrest and table, pulled a picnic kit from her pack and spread a small cloth before unwrapping a sandwich and opening a small container of applesauce – lunch in style in the out of doors. Some might think her an odd duck, but I saw her as a human in the moment with no yesterday or tomorrow – she was living fully in the present and completely absorbed in the beauty around her. She was one with the environment in which she moved.

After lunch and some more journaling, she stretched out beside the smooth wood and napped. She fitted somehow; she was part of the scene, as natural as the sand, the wood, the singing surf, and the sky above.

I followed her activities for the rest of the day, even following her home. Wordlessly, she invited me in. She had to, you see, for I was her shadow and she was me.

Vi
©February 2002