Poem ~ Nothing, Not Nothing

The air is full of silk today. As I run the footpath

along the edge of the salad fields towards the woods

I have to brush the finest of airborne cobwebs

from my face, again and again, nothing to see

in my gloves, only what I can feel across

my cheeks and lips, almost, but not quite, nothing.

Is there a name for the arena that exists between

the visible and the invisible, between the detectable

and the undetectable? A place where boundaries

have been polished into insignificance?

Is that the place where poetry finds us?

Or if not poetry whatever you would like to call it –

a place of wonder or stillness at your centre,

connection, quiet epiphany?

I imagine the spiderlings climbing grass stalks, fence posts,

pointing their abdomens into the air and releasing

their silk and when the thread is long enough

how the wind catches it and the spiderlings

lift into the air like kites on a string of silk.

Some days I am running through the marvellous.

Lynne Rees