Last night, after finishing up the last few pages of The Miracle At Speedy Motors (by Alexander McCall Smith), I turned off my bedside light and settled in for a good night's sleep.
My husband's lamp was still on, casting it's milky glow over the room. What I realized, as I turned to face the wall opposite my side of the bed, was that it also cast shadows. Large shadows. Of me.
There is nothing more startling than to see yourself stretched out across the wall, every bump and curve outlined in a crisp division of dark and light. I started to giggle.
Fifteen feet of me tickled my funny bone. I shifted slightly, watching my shadow mimic my movements. Running my outstretched hand along my side, I became a dinosaur. My hands together, flapping in unison in the air, I was a mountain range with an eagle soaring over me. Lying still I could see the places that need improvement. Each and every one of them.
Having had enough of my enlarged image, I reached over and turned off the offending light. I finally settled in and drifted off to sleep, determined that today I would begin a course to improve the shadow that loomed in front of me.
Is there any wonder why I dreamed of Gulliver last night?