There's a spider in my window. The soft black widow weaves her strong, silk web in a spiral, crafting a kaleidoscope through which I can see so many patterns every day I look outside, and every night the trinket lines reflecting moonlight. A tiny eye for a larger eye; a world seen through another.
I wonder how much time she has. Will her hatchlings carry on her art, her legacy? I won't bring myself to sweep away such beauty, and a family. A family tradition.
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