I once read somewhere that there’s a spider every four feet away from you. And judging by all the webs I can see right now, I’d say that’s a true statement.

The sun sits just above the horizon in the west, it’s rays pointing towards the short green grass in my front yard. Between every blade is a thin, shimmery web. Not even a web, just a thin line, glimmering in and out of existence. Just enough to provide a bit of shelter for whichever itsy-bitsy spider spun the sticky string.

The webs are everywhere. Between the flower pots and pepper plants and the metal cart and the spaces between the fence. All rustling ever-so-slightly in the barely-there breeze.