A Thread in the Dark

I noticed a faint, glistening line suspended between the lower shelf and the baseboard. I stepped closer, deliberately slowing my pace so as not to disturb the air. In the quiet gloom beneath the books, a tiny orb weaver was diligently anchoring silk to an old brass key resting on the floor. I knelt silently, watching each precise loop take shape against the dark polished wood. It is steady and deliberate work. I left the key exactly where it lay, giving my small neighbor room to finish its nocturnal geometry.