Gossamer

This is a summer poem, written on a warm day ... much warmer than we're experiencing in Ohio today ...

It was a day, too, with an absence of snow ... contrasted with today in this neck of the woods, when the snow predictions are speaking of "feet," rather than "inches."

Believe me, based on memories of heavy, sustained shoveling ... absence did not make the heart grow fonder ... of snow, that is.

I don't know where I was, exactly, when this poem presented itself to me ... but I was likely out for my morning walk ... just strolling along (I'm not a power walker, folks) ... my mind wandering ... when I passed this particular hedge with its abundance of spider webs.

I was struck by that abundance, first ... and then, with a closer look ... the delicate handiwork. From there it was a short leap to "fine silk scarves" ... when I got home I sat at the kitchen table and started scribbling on a scrap of paper.

The poem:

GOSSAMER

I see, glistening

in the hedge,

yawning mouths

of spun funnels,

delicate handiwork

of skilled spiders

arrayed, luring

the browser

like fine silk

scarves spread out,

catching the sun,

begging to be bought.

© 1996

(originally published in Capper's)

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Today's word: glistening

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thanks, Marti ... glad you liked it ... hope you're staying snug and warm ...