Glistening webs suspended at thigh height by the weeds of paspalum swaying with the morning’s gentleness. illuminated by the mist and the droplets left by the vital principal of air, there you sit in your lovely web, that you’ve spun so handsomely under a new moon sky to await what you will devour for your dessert in the morning’s light before the sun breaks through the fog, and once again you disappear to slumber through another day.
I walk the road beside you following the leathery padded paws of the fox as she danced through the night leaving her vestige deep in the dirt. Her signature says once again, I was here but you did not see me, for I am the country road and paddock stalker in the shadows, for I am the gatherer under obsidian skies and I keep the company of owls and hares.
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