A cotton candy web hangs between dusk-touched branches. The pink and purple threads aren’t disguised in the lowering light, their allure only heightened by the pastel sky.
Flinches flexing through the web show I’m not the only one engrossed by it, the flap of wings too frail to sound. A clutch of legs nimbly tightrope the strands with reverence for the patronage. The legs and wings tangle in creative differences as the wings are worked into another masterpiece of the gallery. And as I marvel at the cruel truth behind art, I fail to notice mosquitoes artlessly siphoning my blood.