Everywhere we see them, though we walk in straight lines. Daffodils skirt an oak tree, eight rings thick, the hem of an angel's robe. We walk to where children play with a large ball, painted like the earth. It rolls over one child's head. He smiles, lifts the globe high. Others gather around him. We stop for a moment in the street. I turn around and around, looking at my shadow. I cannot step on it. You orbit around me, saying I stand in the way of the sun.