The ground was covered with tiny pocket spiders' webs.
The tall grass in the pasture was even more sparkling with larger webs.
(It wasn't really that big; I was very close.)
But the tiny pocket webs hanging suspended in the short grass --
I found myself dazzled by their shapes.
They look like sailing ships on their way somewhere through a grassy sea.
Masts erect, sails spread, bowsprit forward!
Do you see it?
A craftsman could work days to replicate such a beauty,
but a simple spider makes that in the dark, in hours.
This one's a thicker vessel with multiple masts,
slowly forging its way through heavy seas.
The spider, I suppose, is the captain.
Elsewhere in the garden there is beauty.
This is just a weed climbing and blooming among the dead cucumber vines.
A gourd blossom sparkles in dewy sunlight.
The gourd itself hides among the vines and weeds.
This is what made me go back to the house to retrieve my camera:
late tomato blossoms, detailed in dew like rime frost.
If I hadn't run, I might have missed it
if the sun had run faster and dried the pasture,
the webs and the ships and the waves and the rime.
Beauty is fleeting like a smile.