A poem.

Gossamer In October young spiders stand on their heads and cast out
silk lines as they wait for a breeze to lift them.

Then each one turns and grabs hold of its kite string.
Many glide onto a lawn or field, others ride

air currents across the continent.
Some drop down with the calm of nightfall,

others trace longer arcs above the earth.
Gossamer strands have caught

in ships' rigging hundreds of miles at sea.
When new land forms, spiders are the first to arrive.

Deborah Kroman

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