There are two brown sycamore leaves suspended by spidersilk right outside the window. The silk is grey and cottony with age; the spider is long gone. Now the leaves hang undisturbed, but at times they tilt, flutter, or twist, depending on the breeze. It’s —

the phone vibrates, the strand of thought disippates. Words fly away like autumn leaves.

“Hello?”

Vibrations of an unfamiliar, yet cheerful voice travel through space to ear with greetings followed by a hesitant inquiry: “…do you have a moment to chat?”

Of course.

It’s a perfect moment.  A sacred and holy moment.

Pleasantries exchanged, a need expressed. Plans are tentatively made for the future and the connection is broken.

The leaves outside the window dangle in the breeze held by a thread of spidersilk.

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