The sun was behind and the shadows ran away. The spiritless shadows ran and ran, for no reason other than as a balance to the light the warmed and held and like a thousand warm raindrops to an upturned chin that walks with spine bowed and shameless and proud and daring, a sculpture of fearlessness. It is daunting. The shadow runs like a haplass child away, away, away. The light doesn't chase it just grows and warms lands upon some. The shadow runs from those who have the right-shaped heart. The yang to the yin drift anew like the rain falls away to another place, not to matter any more. All that is remembered and felt again and again and again is the way the rain presses slowly into the skin, as the morning dew alights upon the edge of a petal, as the taste of honeysuckle drifts away from your lips.
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From Burning Man