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.

~~

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