I believe that I can hear it pant from the exertion of the work. The spider repairs one of the swaying threadlike girders before it retires to the web's center to wait for supper. Again, it remains motionless except for one long leg which it extends first to the left and then to the right. Once again, lured closer, I, breathless from watching, sigh. The glass clouds from my warm moist breath.
Shadows fill the room.
Just before setting, the sun's rays break through the fog, and illuminate the clouded window. It laces through the web, projecting a fine criss-cross line which scars my face. The face I remember at thirty-four.