Autumn air gently drapes my object of affection.

Gentle breezes an ever more gentle gossamer thread.

Quietly waiting, my eight-legged friend dances,

gracefully pirouetting on its work of art. 

Without a murmur, 

I gaze intently upon its creation,

infatuated by its silken fibers.

It weaves its threads,

and I weave my soul with it.

We are one, my Arachnid and I.

The only thing more at peace than our minds,

are our slow, slow heart beats.

Realizing such tremendous beauty 

has never felt so serene.