I watch her with awe and respect.
So fragile a creature. So little matter and weight.
Such industrious intention and artistry.
My fascination leads to doubt, contraction.
She will not find this to be her true home.
No offspring should be spawned here,
no enemies captured.
I scoop her gently in my cupped hand.
Her long legs resist, kick, chaotic.
Sticky substance and her sticky will keep her clinging to her web.
I release her to the June afternoon and the awaiting Hydrangea bush.
Is this compassion? right action?
Is this destroying the village in order to save it?
Led by instincts and intuition, I trust my intentions.
Days later, along the garden fence,
I see a shimmering web.
Droplets of moisture glisten, reflect rainbows,
mirror back to me the resolve, the mystery, the magic.