What I saw from the sun in my window.

A spider lives in my room.

It spun a thread across an unexpected intersection of wall and door and floor, a single, long strand which I walked through the other day without noticing, and now it drifts in the breeze of my fan, one end anchored to my carpet, intermittently catching the light as it sways in and out of visibility, like an impossibly thin nylon fishing line, adrift and lure-less in the ocean—a thing of distracting, ethereal beauty.