A Spider's Dance

She delicately moves along her web as she gently places each thread in precisely the right position. She glides along on tiptoes, moving, slowly, and precise in each movement. She weaves here and dabs there. Each movement of her stilettos a graceful dance. A little here and touch there. She weaves and winds though her work. She ties each room together, and strings each corner to one another, If she is to only have silk, then silk would be her tool to use. She center's herself and waits, watching, listening, until l something hits the line, and she drops and wraps those knee high stilettos around her pray and injects her venom into them, with one swift motion.
She comes from above, swiftly so not to been seen and spoil the meal. There isn't time for reaction, everything just goes dark and the fly is tucked in a warm cocoon, If she did her job right the fly would feel nothing but peace and warmth as she winds the it up. Each strand of her silk detaches from the center of the web and she wraps it up tight. Quick like lightening, and attaches it close by for later. Then moves back to center to wait for another. She continues to wait and catch prey till she comes to the end of her supplies. Each capture a chance at a perfectly graceful dance. One meant not to frighten, but to respect. It maybe her food, but she could respect it as she dinned. Later, she dinned on her kill, softly holding her pray, respecting it, Loving it. She lets it's fluids cross her lips. The sweet taste of life flowing into her. The calm taste of a job well done, her pray deep in sleep, dreaming of better times, unaware of her pricks. She is proud of herself, and as the sweet nectar slowly empties, she thanks the fly with her gentle touch. Slowly unwinding each strand of silk from the cocoon that held the fly, releasing the blood bound behind her hold, Taking the silk back into her, storing it away, One mustn't waist the only material you have. She releases the remains of her dinner, letting it fall below her, a grave yard, she guards. Not to gloat, but to give thanks to her food. It sacrifice gave her life, and she loved it for that. She watches it, only for a moment, as it lands upon the rest, and moves to the center of her house again. Taking her time to slowly wind each thread back out and laying it just perfectly, for the next time she is ready to capture a wondering meal. She center's herself after work is done and holds each line watching, waiting, listening, observing her surroundings. Lying in wait for another chance at food. And thus her life is a soft melody or work, eat work, rest. A simple peace about her as she is content to live this simple little life, a grace about loving herself, and respecting all around her, and look life even gave her a bit of company for a little while. Her neighbor, isn't threatening, makes funny noises, but respects her all the same. They may lean in just a bit close, but then, they just want to see the dance. The dance of a spider's life...