I wake up, brew a cup of fresh coffee and head outside to sip it on the patio. The stairs leading down from our house are strung with invisible threads that glint in the morning sun. As I walk through, they cling to my arms and legs, trailing behind me as I go.
I sip my coffee and imagine the weaver. A small brown spider who works diligently through the night. If I do it right, I can catch a human and feast forever.
But not this morning. She’ll have to try again tomorrow.