The Web That Speaks of a Weaver
I found this lovely piece of spider’s lace out on a trail and I carried it in my hands all the way home. Isn’t it incredible? The substance of a whole summer of fluffing out and catching the sun, now crumbled and gone.
Winter has its way with us. The cold and quiet can strip us free of such broad, carefully sewn layers. Maybe this is why I love winter. Isolated inside one’s coat and chimney, you are left with only the fine, bird-wing bones of your life to mull over. Winter is such a precious season of thought, introspection, and examination. But isn’t it lovely, to slow down so much that you expose the delicate lattice of a life built, and rebuilt, and ready to be built again?