Exasperated, I looked at my treasure of cups hanging at the window. An overactive spider had, yet again, spun a web through their handles. Being the prolific storyteller, it loves spinning tales with the produce of its spinneret.
Winding through the hooks and handles, fueled with its grit, like a crafty matchmaker, interweaving each member with silk, it creates a long family chain.
A master weaver but a complete spoilsport, strewing unwanted blossoms only to add another crease to our foreheads and reach out for that sole weapon, The Broom.
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