I carry out

my table ware.

Late sun warms my skin.

My eyes draw to the row

of tree caps swinging in

autumn light glow.

Ocean waves

in rustling leaves.

Something wraps my face.

It's fine.

It's silky.

It's sticky.

…it's not fine.

I scream.

The spider is crawling over me

quite comfortably

on my collarbone,

after I destroyed its home.

I run inside.

I wash my face.

I scrub my arms and body.

I step out into the autumn sun.

The web is back already.