A delicious web of spiders, covered in silk. I ate them all, they were nice.

I started on Tuesday.

“Robert,” I called, “Fetch me my pen, I must write this down.”

And here we are. It’s still Tuesday. And what a day.

Robert sits across from me on the box bench by the window. He’s looking out over the green toward the copse. Why is he looking?

“Robert,” I called, “Why are you looking?”

“Ma’am?”

“Why are you looking?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I…”

I point to my empty plate, licked clean but for a few bare threads of sticky silk. And Robert looks at it, with his eyes, sees that it is empty, nods in apology, scuttles off to the pantry, to fetch me more delicious, soft, silky spiders to chew on.