in the windy dark of the first cold front of the season, trees shake off their old shadows and throw them into the night black like releasing black paper in a storm.
spiderwebs do not connect to the tree branches, or the leaves. this is purely an illusion. wicked spiders connect their dangerous webs to the shadows of the tree. the mystical properties of spidersilk – long used in alchemy – are quite clear on the way they can bind across the planar spheres.
the spider, when it captures her prey, drags the soul and fluids into a new dimension only tenuously connected to our own.
ah, but that wind of winter comes and trees shake off their shadows and spiders fly with the shadows into the night air. they shape their webs into parachutes to ride the shadows and the winds in the night.
look up, the next time you’re walking in the dark below a streetlight. you’ll see that flickering strand of gossamer, and the looping bowls fashioned by a single thread. you’ll see the tiny acorn at the bottom, like a demon’s earring, like a halloween tree ornament, like a terror in the sky.
terror of the night sky, torn from the blowing shadows, tears through the winds to the new trees that will collect old shadows in their bare branches like wet paper bags clutched in sewer bars.
then new webs, and new death.