Cobwebs in the Sky

Yesterday, we talked of spiders.

“The sky is so blue,” I said, and you chuckled at my inane obviousness. But it was; Rayleigh still refuses to tell me why the word ‘periwinkle’ fits perfectly like a rubber band over the concept of ‘sky’ – both onomatopoeically and in meaning.  I glanced over at you as you played with a single blade of grass – we’re still getting used to summer – as we both lay on a sloping part of the lawn. I kept feeling like I’m falling off.

And there were cobwebs in the sky over us, crisscrossing silently from one end to the other. We spent the evening unraveling them and unraveled with them until the sky darkened in silent protest against our analysis and we trudged off home silently, slightly drunk on the grass-stained memories of the sun and the pollen and a happy, unisexual exhaustion.