A Web of Cold Drops

I followed the garden path further back, climbing onto the low wooden sill of an old shed. In the rusted corner of the frame hung an abandoned spiderweb, beaded with dense, cold dew. I leaned in slowly, careful not to tear the fragile strands. Through each microscopic sphere of water, the pale autumn sky appeared upside down, clear and trembling in the noon light. When I extended one quiet fingertip to brush the anchor thread, a drop gently slid down into my touch, holding its shape upon my palm.