Jun 29, 2019
3 min read
An Arachnid Artist’s Average Day
The next moment is never guaranteed.
The perfect trap to set my weave appears like a sudden shock. There between those posts it will hang. Death and dinner await. My stomach is rumbling with anticipation, design, and the heat of the hunt.
Arcing my swing to perfection my jump times just right in the small breeze. Post to post. Lines of me, silk forming precise patterns stream from…
