For someone that hates spiders, their skin crawling at the mere mention of the word and finger nails tingling, like nails being drawn across the blackboard at the thought one big hairy black eight legged monster might walk into view; I love cobwebs.
I woke up this morning to a really misty dawn, the view down the drive and onto the lane, the field beyond lost in the mists of time.
Behind me the old gateway into the back of the garden was decorated in fine silk fibres in delicate patterns, created by a true artist of the night.
The other side of the falling down gateway that the rambling honeysuckle, once scented with flowers of yellow now supporting last nights masterpieces.
The kayak kit left out and forgotten by my son when he cleaned out the shed and decided to air his kit on the line, now shrouded with webs off set by the dark background of the black helmet.
The bamboo, its swaying fronds waiting for sunshine under the layer of mist.
