In summer, I save dragonflies, butterflies, and moths, pull them flapping and flailing from orb weaver webs.
Today, the tightrope spider silk spanning one metal support held no prey. Instead, the stanchion's rusted, chipped coating (paint and iron) captured me, holding me in thrall just as a version of Munch's Scream did many years ago.
You see it, too, don't you? The artist's palette?
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