I was sitting at a park bench, sighing the week's worries away.
I'm not a fan of cricket, but the pitch seemed to lull me into a quieter mind.
I turned to face forward and stare at the ground, but my eyes wouldn't focus.
The dirt shimmered, spun over with fine strands that shone in the sharp setting light.
There must have been thousands of these hair-like filaments, cast from the wind.
How many industrious spiders did this work?
I couldn't for my eyes see them, but I knew that they weren't far.
The work of such small beings in such a small moment, caught by my sitting still.
About the Creator
Rhi
I'm an old soul that yearns for the escape of words. I usually find it in poetry, short prose, and lately, in fantasy. I can't promise you consistency here, but if you're feeling adventurous, trust me. I'll look after you.
I've Just Realized
The President doesn't understand music. There. It felt very good to write that; it's some thing I just realized today. Oh , yes; he plays it. He TRUMPets it in rallies and meetings, pumps it across the airwaves when he gathers up our minutes waiting for his late arrival.
By Judey Kalchik a day ago in Beat
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