Spiders weave their webs overnight and if they are lucky, folk like me will not walk through them. Not that I would on purpose , however in the early morning walk down the drive to get the daily paper, I sometimes do not see them. I feel myself being wrapped in gossamer, silver threads and know that I unintentionally destroyed a work of art.
Sometimes, when they are left to weave huge webs, they write messages for us to decipher. My mother would study these webs and now I do.
Speaking of webs we weave, life seems to be carved into webs; some broken into loose fragments; some sturdy and strong. Webs are strange filaments that many times break the silver thread connecting us to those we love and those we lost.