Creeping out from quarantine
on a noiseless Sunday,
I spotted a wispy, sable-colored
spider refusing to shelter in place,
shimmying through
shifting sunlight
up an imperceptible thread
to the awning above my head
just how I once rocked
to a peak of an Alp smeared with
tourism and snow
(or was it white Toblerone?)
in a fully-packed funicular
when I was twelve
and not yet terrified of heights.
And now I feel as exposed, but
not half as carefree as
that nimble arachnid in
the wind.

North American nomad, Adrian Slonaker, works as a language boffin and is fond of thunderstorms, late-night chats, ghost stories and rock ‘n roll records. Adrian’s work, which has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net, has been published in The BeZine, The Pangolin Review, Ez.P.Zine and others.