The thread-like fibers flutter with the breeze.
All but invisible in the early morning fog.
Most certainly the structure invisible to its prey.
We share the balcony with a view to the area’s beauty.
I with coffee in hand
The spider with a trap for what might land.
“Then a dog began to howl somewhere in a farmhouse far down the road, a long, agonized wailing, as if from fear. The sound was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, till, borne on the wind which now sighed softly through the Pass, a wild howling began, which seemed to come from all over the country, as far as the imagination could grasp it through the gloom of the night”
“DON’T TAUNT THE ALLIGATOR UNTIL YOU’VE CROSSED THE CREEK.”
Beacon, NY near the roundhouse.