vraven

Not until a gentle inquiry of drizzle fell upon its half-spun webbing did the tiny white arachnid hasten diligence in spinning. A quiet splash, a grey reminder that survival is having a home. "Clever," utters spider, "of this callous weather to extend my indigence again before I've finished." "And so beautiful the rain may be," it muses, glancing silent to the infinite indefinite above, instinctively clinging to the nearest slender, swaying rod of fibrous green and watching as—unstrung so effortlessly by droplets of greater size—its seventh presupposed homestead disappears, "and how it from the sky digs into soil, how I wonder wher