Stretched between two shimmering steel bars, the cobweb bends. Concave, then convex, yielding to the dry night breeze. It shifts not as a collective of strings but as one membrane, illuminated from above by the strip of lights under the railing. It was constructed with care by a tender architect, now invisible, presumed deceased. The anchor strands meet in a confused center the circumference of a dime, where the cords twist into vein-like bewilderment. This maze consumes the idle brain, turning gentle nothings into the deepest contemplations on texture and design.
Where the lower steel bar meets the post, a vaguely spheric stone is lodged. The stone must have been placed by a human agent. No natural occurrence could have brought it to rest there. That action was without motive, other than a creative desire to manipulate the formless environment, and so was holy. There are crystals in the stone that sparkle as the angle of observation is altered.
There is a sudden urge to wrap the cobweb around the stone, to entangle these two distant concepts, to thicken the mystery of this tiny cosmos: a universe that overflows with the power of their presence, the meaning of their placement.
There is a parable in these two lonely objects. The message escapes me. But as I lay my spine across the concrete stair, trusting what is solid to remain solid, I am aware that the world assumes the curvature of my eyes.