Taking off from Denver one afternoon last week, the sky was blue and the sun was shinning.   The plane’s shadow mirrored our moves, skimming over the ground for miles as we climbed, keeping pace with us as we winged our way to Seattle.

I watched the shadow ripple over items on the ground.  It slid over grass, dirt, roads, parking lots, shopping malls, and trees; touching living and inanimate things. It climbed buildings, raced cars, mimicked other planes and covered people; contacting moving and stationary objects.  It passed over a man loading gear into the back of his car. It passed over two of a string of bike riders.  It passed over large tree canopies and was larger than small groupings of newly planted trees.  It raced up the side of a mountain and sped into the valley on the other side.  The shadow created a brief moment of shade where there had been none before and left brightness in its wake.

The higher we went, the harder the shadow tried to stay condensed into the shape of a plane.  Its efforts were not successful as its sharp, recognizable plane edges blurred into an elongated blob and its dark distinctive gray lightened, almost pixelated, as we traveled along.

The cityscape quickly gave way to countryside and the shadow paid no attention, remaining focused on its own agenda.  It skimmed along, touching what it pleased. It raked over the land, watched by me, but apparently invisible to others.  The shadow was not influenced and as it faded away, it left no trace of its existence.  Although it served as a connection between all the things it encompassed after it was created on that sunny Monday afternoon, its touch was benign, leaving no harm in its wake.