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The Cobweb

Written by: Raymond Carver | Biography
 A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house.
From there I could see and hear the water, and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still.
The tide was out.
No birds sang.
As I leaned against the railing a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair.
No one can blame me that I turned and went inside.
There was no wind.
The sea was dead calm.
I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath touches it.
A fine thread.
Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes, I'll be gone from here.



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