“We’re here for only a short while,” Amy said out loud, sketch pad on lap, pencil poised over blank page. “Then it’s back to the spider.”
Her breath, a frosty, cloudy haze, emitted percussively as she spoke. “But as far as I know,” she continued with added emphasis, pencil dancing across her sketch pad, “spiders don’t write poetry.”
When she was finished, she looked down at what she had drawn, then back to its source, satisfied. Above her, the sun was young, far below its apex in the sky.
“Maybe they don’t need words,” she mused. “Not like we do.”
This is a really lovely piece of work, and very effective for its length. Great work 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for the fine comments and for reading!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Spider musings
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on James Blevins.
LikeLike
Perhaps their webs are their art/poetry?
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can see that being true. 🙂
LikeLike
Nicely done. Spiders create poetic webs at times.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, David. And I would definitely agree.
LikeLike
Haha, yes, James, we weave webs with our words, no matter how silken. Thanks for such an evocative piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Kelvin, for reading. 🙂
LikeLike
Lovely piece, love the title!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you! 🙂
LikeLike
Swoon.
LikeLiked by 1 person