Unintentional Moment

I was walking on Congdon Steet. I had noticed tunnel web after exquisite tunnel web woven throughout the bushes in my travels one hazy morning. There was a fine mist that had settled onto the webs casting a slivery glaze over the already silver web. I admired the passion and instinct that the spiders put into their creation. For them it is passion for survival. I ran my hand across one of them unintentionally smearing the silver glaze and dragging the clinging web away from it’s perfectly positioned place. There were remnants of bugs wound up in what was left of the web still on the bush; some of them were dried and yet others seemed freshly dead. Several were bigger and looked as though they may have lived for a quite a while, their system still alive but mostly lifeless; while still others were so tiny that they may have not have been alive very long before meeting their untimely (or perhaps timely) demise. Though a very small part of the web was bunched on my fingers some of it was still silvery. I thought that perhaps the spider may have felt disheveled and may have been alarmed to discovery itself without a web so quickly after crafting to catch its next meals. I found myself thinking it rather strange that, to me, something so intricately beautiful, and to the spider, so sustaining --could be destroyed with but one swift unintentional moment.