Conditional Reality

Before my friend Chiptooth Hummingbird did it, I thought it was impossible to preserve your own shadow. What you have to do, said Chiptooth, is kind of sneak up on shadows with the thought that they will not move until you grab them. Then, bam! you go for the center—not the edges—and wrap ‘em up in your fist. Chiptooth had many shadows stuffed into jars of alcohol. They floated in there like jellyfish. What are you going to do with all these? I asked. Chiptooth shrugged. I’ll donate them to some museum, he said. Or let them go.