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 my abdomen.
Unwary insects will find final rest in my great engineering and invention.
If only that dragonfly will stay away. The last one, so strong and fast, ripped apart my beautiful network of filaments. Tiny hairs on my body tell me the fly is near and threatening. Stupid bug!
Time to rest now. Construction is done. The structure is set and patient waiting will result in meal after meal to feed my soon to arrive offspring. After I ate my last mate satisfaction and hopes for a more numerous future look bright.
Two of my eight eyes never close because I must remain vigilant. Should an intruder or snack arrive one must be ready.
The dark descends upon my composite threads and conceals lingering fate for my prey.
Dim light from the circle in the sky brushes through the tree canopy closeby. I sense the vibration of wings fluttering…
