At 4000 feet the shadows mostly
Stood upright but by 5000
Every one of them was lying flat,
Hugging the ground and urging us
To proceed with caution. At 6000
They refused to go on; we left them
With the ghost of a farmer who promised
To shelter them in the ruined barn
He'd been haunting for decades.
When we returned, our shadows
Refused to rejoin us; we spent weeks
Finding more and patching them sufficiently
To last through the long journey back.
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