The eight-legged earthling elegantly spins her mesh.
The trees as her circus stage, the performer manoeuvres on her trapeze with grace.
She drapes her long limbs on the invisible line and with her head flung back she twirls,
her face catching the light of the new day.
The ocean’s song rides through the branches like a wave and she dances along the staff, meeting each quaver and semibreve with glee.
A family of five rips her pavilion apart.
To a human, the nestled silk is insignificant and frail in the dense and rich fabric of existence, but not to the slender earthling.
She gathers the smithereens left in the humans’ wake and creates again.
The humans learn from her that they too will encounter many other earthlings who will tear down the fortresses they have built and persecute the dreams which smoulder in their hearts.
They can only hope that they will stand up tall to their goliaths,
ceaselessly setting up camp to brave the harsh weather their planet throws at them.