My boots carried me up the hill where I came face to face with myself. They sprinkled the dust of three continents up the Welsh hillside where I waited for myself. The sun did no more than warm my back until I came to the edge of a cliff, when it showed how photons are as capable of artistry as illumination. It made my shadow a spectre, rippling across the cloud below me. I was a faceless giant wearing a rainbow halo, as substantial as a shadow could be on a cloud.
I waved to myself. My hand traversed a mile of Welsh sky.
I nodded. A head the size of a house agreed with me.
The cloud sailed down the valley like a barge on a canal, leaving me alone in my boots again. I walked on, packing the soles with Welsh mud to be scattered wherever I wore them next.