The afternoon sunlight reaches the end of the floor, warming only one of grandmother's shoes.

A narrow alley with low sunlight, I recall an afternoon when my steps slowed without my knowing.

Out the evening bus window, the streetlight drags its glow along the wet sidewalk. The footprints that passed through that light have already dried.

Even after you stepped into the shade, each footprint leaves a warm place behind. I was just watching that path outside the window.

At the end of the shadow stretched by the afternoon sun, the spot where the old dog rested still holds its warmth.

In the alley where the afternoon sun stretched out, a cat sitting at the doorway opened one eye and watched the shadow passing by.