She is all quiet urgency.
It is autumn,
her moment.
She was born to weave
spin
propagate.
~~
She must sense
her limited timeline,
the shortness of her life.
~~
Her legs move quickly,
deftly-
a master 0rb-weaver;
~~
only months old,
but with pattern engrained in her brain cells
by ancient codes.
~~
The web is delicate
moving with the slightest
breath of breeze,
hardly visible
until sunlight touches its edges…
her touch
a pinprick of gentleness.
~~
It is complex,
a mathematical miracle,
space, geometry, time
a perfect equation.
~~
She has picked this spot
This moment
This September.
She will perform her duty,
the only purpose to which she is bound,
and pass.
~~