The Little Things|
Between a bowed limb and a cat tail stem
On a line of bright silk, swept in the wind,
Dangled a tiny black spider, focused and solemn.
In the shadow of the bow, he spun and twined.
Carefully crafted, catching rays from the sun,
Stretched inch by inch in the dancing breeze,
Meticulously the strings of the web were strung,
And slow, artful progress was made in degrees.
The spider, retracting up the length of his thread,
Perched on the white peak of the cotton cat tail.
He studied his creation. "It's unbreakable," he said.
And a gentle current caught the web like a sail.
Warm day after day the web served its creator,
Keeping him full in its glistening canopy.
He captained his vessel like a proud aviator.
Tired from his toils, he relaxed happily.
One morning, returning from gathering water,
An old woman trembled to a stop in the path.
"Careful dear," she said, warning her daughter.
"You do not want to incur a spider's wrath."
The girl was distracted by the heat from the sun.
The web fell to pieces and was suddenly gone.
The old woman chuckled and they both moved along.
Leaving the spider drifting in sad desperation.
But from that darkness a realization occurred,
From this thing he had lost he received a great token.
Everything that lives returns to the dust that it stirred,
and there is nothing so great that it cannot be broken.