Or what colour suits you, catch one or two … It’s not so difficult, ladies and gentlemen, elegant too. They sit in their web and nothing disturbs them except by accident, the spider’s boon.
Watching one floating in the sunshine as the breeze caused it to breathe, in and out, into it flew a fly, of some sort. Straight onto it she was, from a standing start in the cold air to the centre of the web and something to eat – gone.
Fingers on every thread that matters, she knows her way, her home. She knows her stuff, her job, and don’t go falling into her tricksy web or walk into her on a flower or you’ll never get out. She is made for catching things, gripped in her thorny embrace, bit by long fangs a-dripping.
Paralysed, liquefied and drank all in. Nothing but a husk to show where…
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