Spider perches and lets slip a filament in the breeze.
A strand of her web floating free.
In search of an anchor.
Where it lands, a spin of chance.
The spider pulls her line taught and begins construction.
Knowing only that a foundation has been found;
she builds her web.
She waits to learn that which the breeze has given.
Will the web feed her well?
Will it be brushed asunder at first light?
Will it hold firm and yet stay empty?
No way to know.
Still the spider weaves.
And waits to learn her fate.
Having done all she can.
And yet, perhaps, not near enough.
If so the wind decided.
Muse Vassal 