and i kept spinning the web. in fact, i'm still spinning away. i am steadfast and my web has grown substantially since last spring. it started off small, but as i invested more work.time.love., i saw my silky trails make pretty patterns and overwhelm the red ferns below me. i watched as flies repeatedly got stuck, and i ensnared them. they didn't taste good so i spat them out, and they took my satin toils in their thievish hands, leaving behind gaping, horrible holes that both frightened and beckoned me. i had one purpose when starting my vast web, and the motive remained present, even when the red fern died in the summer heat, and i watched the integrity of my project fold in on itself. they say that things die in autumn; shed their leaves and shake off blossoms that are then caught by wet pavement and muddy grasses. simply put, this is not the case for my gossamer net. its silver geometry began to take shape in this period of decay. unlike the empty summer, this time the fine lines seemed stronger, like hercule's thread of life: even the fates couldn't cut. as winter rolled in with its icy breath, i thought i'd finished all labour, so i cockily reclined. i enjoyed the hard work of the past seasons, looking fondly at certain corners of my web, thinking how beautiful it truly was. but then. i noticed something. something went awry. a small, but integral thread had loosed itself and i watched the slow, sad, unraveling of my perfect and beloved latticework. instinctively, i darted to grasp the fine thread before it could unwind the entirety of the structure, but i quickly realized that three of my best legs were caught amongst the twigs that remained where the red fern had grown. i shook those terrors off with all my might and clasped onto the slippery silk. saved. or, at least potentially saved. now it's mid-winter; high time for mending.
so i keep spinning the web.
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