Shadow Boxing

Last night’s hard freeze followed by this morning’s breeze is sending leaves falling to the ground like cereal shaken slowly from a box held high above the bowl. I stand for a moment in the parking lot, watching the maple’s shedding. Caught against the brick wall of the auditorium, shadows trace the drifting tumble downward and slightly to the north. By noon, these branches will be nearly bare.

I walk on past the cars and trees into my office. Greg’s door is open and I see the same tracing framed on his wall beside an east window. The low slant of morning sun shapes shadows in stark parallelogram just above his desk. Slender branches dip and five-pointed shapes flicker in their falling, two-dimensional figures portraying what lives just beyond.

I often find myself studying one thing or another, believing that I search the very expression of life itself and later realize that I have been pre-occupied with some reflection, some refraction of reality. It is the glory of this world to deceive us, fascinating us with shadows as we walk oblivious to the substance.

In the pure and peaceful wisdom that comes from above, our eyes are opened and we begin to grasp the greater reality of the things that are unseen.

H. Arnett


About Doc Arnett

Native of southwestern Kentucky currently living in Blair, Kansas, with my wife of twenty-five years, Randa. We have, between us, eight children and twenty-one grandkids. We enjoy singing, worship, remodeling and travel.
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