Out back where the trail curls around

to meet the creek, where you can

still smell the ghost of a three-year-old

fire, small animal tracks leave

mud holes where smaller spiders

spin overnight webs, delicate,

complex, stunning. In the morning,

spiderweb threads are strung with

tiny blue water beads, dewy

droplet pearls on finest silk as

if dropped from the neck of a tipsy

wood sprite still dancing as she

tiptoes on home.