In the thick, it’s hard to see.
Arms outstretched, even harder to reach.
The web is cast, setting the trap.
Weary travelers feel the wrath.
Brittle bars cage a whittled spine.
Dying bones can’t escape what binds.
The air is heavy, full of unanswered prayers.
They sky hangs low, desperate to hear.
Barren twigs defy spring’s touch.
Gray and dry, crumble to dust.
Between black and gray, light exists.
Specks of gold slip through the cracks.
Photo by: c.b.w. 2014
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