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.

~~

Video

I am a storm.

Sometimes a hurricane

Sometimes freezing rain

Sometimes blazing heat

or dust.

~~

You love like a sunny day;

You love me all straight and narrow,

~~

while I love winding and wide

with no signs, no directions.

~~

And sometimes I’m spinning

Gales and sheets of rain

reaching miles beyond me,

stirring up the water – 

~~

And you, with unbreakable mast,

sail directly for the center-

Not merely surviving, 

but arms open wide, sails full of wind,

head thrown back,

smiling as the drops hit your face

like the tempest is beautiful.

~~

You point at the heart of the storm 

without speaking-

knowing its power,

condensing the energy,

pointing it in the right direction.

~~

The heart of the storm

is the heart of me

and you’re not afraid,

so neither will I be.

~~

deb linne