The morning spun itself into meaning,
revealing the magic from the night before

Collecting the aura of the dawn,
the wisps and orbs glitter and glow

The morning breathes through silk and dew
Each drop holds a world,
each thread — a memory of motion

And small reds suns behind,
waiting to rise

The web doesn’t trap, it reveals
the drops embellish and punctuate
Their story gets the spot and stage,
just for a moment

Before it all dissolves with the day
As if waking up from a dream

Photographs shot in a garden in Arunachal Pradesh, September 2024