Monday
Dec242018

Spiderwork

Christmas Eve and bright haze all day. The recession has been pale and lovely. Now the sun has almost set and at the edge of the fen, across an empty paddock, spiders have spun silk from every blade of grass. The ground seems covered with angel hair, the glass fibre that was used to adorn Christmas trees when I was a child. In the way of the fens the mist is rising from the low places to meet the sun. Teasles and bullrushes are backlit along the old fences. The work of the spiders in the paddock is like thousands of tiny strings of lights. The effect is magical.

 

PrintView Printer Friendly Version

EmailEmail Article to Friend

Reader Comments

There are no comments for this journal entry. To create a new comment, use the form below.

PostPost a New Comment

Enter your information below to add a new comment.

My response is on my own website »
Author Email (optional):
Author URL (optional):
Post:
 
All HTML will be escaped. Hyperlinks will be created for URLs automatically.
« The wind plays my bones | Main | The Black Dog Gnaws »