Day of the Spiderlings

I’ve got that crawling feeling,

that under-the-skin sensation

that usually portends a change

with all the accuracy

of an ill wind.

 

It is the Day of the Spiderlings

and the sky is a latticework

of shimmering lifelines.

Silk sails taking

the little arachnids off

to find their fate.

 

I too,

feel the first stirrings

of a season of wanderlust.

Given that the first green shoots

are poking from freshly thawed soil

and Winter has relinquished

her firm, icy grip.

 

It is time to move about,

to take stock,

see what new work lies ahead

and where the fates may take us.

That old wheel turns

and even the time grows old.

 

Spring’s birth of a new world

restores flowers to the senses,

hope to the dead, grey fields

and joy

to an abandoned heart.

 

Weary men,

step from their thresholds

and stretch their arms

and test their bones,

as if seeing if they might bear

another season.

The sky,

lit with a brilliant promise,

shows signs of returned birds

and high, wisps of cloud.

 

In the daylight,

if you look just right,

you will see the shimmering threads

that carry young spiderlings

off on the breeze

to meet their fate.

Their lines,

thin as though to be invisible,

but strong enough to bear life.

Strong enough for hope.

 

HG – 2017

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