The Child Who Collected Good Shadows

Leo did not like the garden after sunset.

By day it was full of lemon leaves, low trees, stones, and clay pots. At night, the same things became shadows. A branch became an arm. A pot became a crouching animal. The path seemed longer.

One evening his aunt gave him a small wicker basket.

“Tonight we will collect good shadows.”

Leo frowned. “Shadows are not good.”

“Let us look slowly.”

They lit two lanterns. The first shadow came from the little orange tree. On the wall it looked large and strange.

“What could it be?” asked Aunt.

“A monster.”

“Look again.”

Leo watched. The shadow moved when the leaves moved. It had small round fruits, just like the tree.

“Maybe a tired giant with oranges in his pockets.”

“Good. Into the basket.”

Leo pretended to lift the shadow gently and place it in the basket. It became lighter at once.

They collected the shadow of the watering can, which became a long-necked bird. The shadow of the chair became a sleeping horse. The shadow of the basil pot became a little mountain.

Each time Leo looked slowly, fear changed shape.

It did not disappear all at once. But it softened.

At the end, the basket seemed full of quiet stories.

“What do we do with them?”

“We keep them for nights when the dark forgets to be kind.”

Leo carried the basket to his room and placed it near the bed.

From then on, when a shadow frightened him, he did not run immediately. He asked, “What else could you be?”

Sometimes he still called for someone. That was allowed.

But often the shadow answered: I am only a tree, a chair, a pot, waiting to be seen gently.