Hanging on a Thread
by: Marie Jarreau 11/6/10
In the early morning spell of a November dawn, a tiny gray spider fell gracefully and slow from a branch’s edge.
Suspended by its shiny, single strand of web-thread it floated briefly against a wall of chilled morning fog. A pleasant sight. I watched - wrapped in a woven woolen shawl, sipping warmth from my cup of ginger tea.
The spider’s abject freedom brought a feeling of kinship to my soul. The little agile creature could descend, or climb, pause, spin or sway in the gentle breeze that fed the fog - as it chose.
At the same time I could sit – sipping from the comfort of my window, breathe deeply of the morning air, stroll out into the foggy day, or go out and dance a solitary jig beneath the apple blossoms - as I chose.
For a brief intimate moment in time; there we were – kindred spirits, the wispy little spider and I, hanging on the thread of indecision.
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