I take daily walks in the vicinity of my home near Hudson, New York. On fogbound mornings the edges of woods and fields transform into veritable galleries of amazing spider webs. I am in awe of their sturdy gossamer architecture, displayed against a verdant backdrop in the opalescent light. The webs are strung on impromptu frames, between the thumb and fingertips of a skeletal twig, for example, or within a tiny garland of shriveled leaves. I examine some closely and am surprised at their sculptural quality - they're not always 2D, but rather astonishingly parabolic, suggesting to me a microcosm, a model of the very structure of the universe. (The answers are everywhere, right before our eyes!) I am aware that these webs have a deadly purpose - but this fly is transfixed merely by their beauty. From the perspective of the human beholder, the beauty is gratuitous - a gift, held in outstretched fashion - and for that I am delighted, humbled, and grateful. In homage to these industrious arachnids (self-effacing too - for I see only the evidence, rarely the maker), and with a nod to the feminine art of lacemaking, here I offer my own tatted webs - my thoughts, inspired by nature, spun as best I can into poetic prose.