Such is the quiddity of Humility.
“Thus spins the spider, hated by many for its spooky bite, its clingy web, the feeling of neglect its presence leaves behind. Yet it weaves its web and catches its prey to the best of its ability, and if you happen to capture a glimpse of its artwork glistening with dew in the sunlight, you think how bejeweled is the creator of that webwork.”
-Quote by Marsha Lee, dear friend and superbly inspiring, talented, humourous, and entertaining blogger. Please feel welcome to drip by her blog and imbibe of her literary adventures- and I greatly encourage leaving a comment as she will dazzle and enthrall with her wonderfully scintillating and winsome response: Marsha Lee
Many good cheers,
Iodine sun seeps through the gauze of sulfuric cloud, atmosphere smothered as sunset swims on still pools of flaming auburn. Dead leaves swirl at the surface. Staggering, spilling, fisticuffing with the twisting branches that grasp and clutch, I toss into the prickly, stinging copse of thorns and splinters. There, at last, I find stillness, inhaling the heady scent of decay, visage buried in debris, listening to the writhing of beetles and centipedes beneath.
As a species decants into the Night, there may linger a faded imprint, but Nature utilizes and swiftly forgets her creatures lost- she knows no mourning as a comet smears the evening sky, unseen, and a last breath escapes with a silent wheeze.