Tuesday, September 10, 2019
September’s sun wanes, slanted, weakened, leaving morning dew longer, lingering to reveal the spider deep in her lacy funnel lined by luminous prismed drops as countless as her eyes. I walk to pick the morning’s herbs and see the shining threaded webs woven among the sorrel, the bent bladed grass. I step carefully. How many times have I wrecked something beautiful without knowing?
For a second you forget it’s the dead leaves rustling overhead. -Randi Ward
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