Decide you aren’t going to sweep away cobwebs anymore. It will be another way you’re different. Maybe it’s just because you’re short but you can barely even see them up there. And when you do see them you don’t see something to be swept away. You see something spun out of nothing. You see the work that went into making a pattern. You see silk emerging silkily from an abdomen; you see the elegant, precise word “spinnerets”; you see Ariadne, and you take pity on her.
Say, “No, leave them, I love spiders.” There–you’ve caused a stir, you’ve started a rumor, you’ve launched a myth. You’ve spun your own web, and you’re at the center of it, resting and waiting.
I find the one thing
I wanted to stay lost