Here I sit, underneath the leaves of the tree, just stretched out at the moment. The tree is ancient, as am I, we grew old and wise together, we talk for days, sometimes weeks at a time. During the spring and summer it is full of life and joy as children swing from its branches, climbing up high, to touch the clouds. During the fall it feels old, as it's leaves change from a rich healthy green to a dull brown and orange. And when the winter comes, it is silent, as it cries in silence and it makes me weep because I feel as lonely as it does. A quick chat with the few who walk by, bound to a human or beast, a boring talk with the snow who don't understand how quick their lives go by arrogantly state bold words. Sometimes, in the depth of winter, I wish that I were bound to a human, so I could move with them and talk to many things. But when it first wakes up, from the somber winter and I have to talk to it, to spread its shy leaves I know that I wouldn't be happy, bound to another. I will stay with my ancient friend, simply because it needs me, to go throughout its life and keep it going. I may be incredibly selfless, staying here through all time, the happy spring, the depressing falls, and the lonely winters. But it is my job to sit with my friend, because is that not what a shadow's job is, to keep its friends happy.