We sit at table eating

I, a child,

Staring at the window see

A spiders web in the top corner

With a fly trapped in the middle

Listening to its low grade buzzing

As it struggles

The spider appears and walks

Across its own web to its welcome guest

The fly panics becoming more enmeshed.

Its gracious host waits as the fly tires

Savoring its moving feast

Weaving a silken straitjacket, marinating.

Silken strands shimmer in the fading light

Embroidery complete it retreats to the corner and rests

Patiently anticipating

Savoring each morsel we watch this mortal drama concluding.

Later, I read that the spider makes non sticky strands

To avoid getting caught in its own web

Now, I wonder what a web I weave with my own thoughts,

Sometimes getting caught in the web

Forgetting which are the sticky strands,

Acting like the fly, I am more helpless

Acting like the spider, I know how to unstick the stickiness.