In the half light, a long grass stem becomes a fragile scaffold for the mornings breath, each bead of dew on a spiders woven art creates a prism of mist-made-crystals. The spider has long since abandoned her web yet the droplets remain like tiny chambers of frozen light suspended in the cold morning air catching what little sun there is to break through the gloom before they fall, one by one, back to silence. We must appreciate the beauty within every crevice of our lives.
In the half light, a long grass stem becomes a fragile scaffold for the mornings breath, each bead of dew on a spiders woven art creates a prism of mist-made-crystals. The spider has long since abandoned her web yet the droplets remain like tiny chambers of frozen light suspended in the cold morning air catching what little sun there is to break through the gloom before they fall, one by one, back to silence. We must appreciate the beauty within every crevice of our lives.