Cradle of Thread
It happened when I was not noticing,
yet I was so close,
that had I not have been here,
disregarded as I was,
I would missed the weaving,
from branch to branch, a spider’s thread,
meshed with the sun,
as if spinning itself with velvet fingers.
A net,
cradled over the leaves,
slung low over the dew.
Evidence in the spring daylight,
of a chore needing to be done,
skillfully being crafted,
trembling in the soft breeze,
as the sun fondles each delicate strand.
This is not new, or kept a secret,
but I can't help but wish,
for someone here,
to share my excitement,
and to also recognize,
the magic of the silver thread
and a miracle in the making.
______________________________
For Suzanne's Contest
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