I arise in the morning with dew laden ground and greet the day, opening the doors wide to tend to my garden.
It is then, as the sun comes creeping ‘cross, that I first glimpse the shenanigans of the night before…
The hundreds (thousands?!) of little acrobats who’ve been so busy
to and fro.
Revealed now and again, as sunbeams dance,
are tiny tightropes strung from olive branch to fern
and back again.
From the highest tree to the lowest blade they’ve frolicked.
Gossamer threads left fastened here and floating there—abandoned.
Not a sign of the pranksters anywhere.
No doubt they are fast asleep.
Tuckered out by moonlight play, I suppose.
I shriek and shudder.
bit of their handiwork.
I have the notion then I hear…
…Was that a tiny snicker?