I don’t want to know what lives in our fireplace,
But it weaves its delicate silks in intricate patterns across the logs.
Morning sunlight streams through the window upon the glistening patterns spun.
The web descends from the chimney, dangling vulnerably throughout the long day.
It sways in even the slightest breeze.
Each evening, the spent sun sets, and in the cool shade of the recessed stones,
The inhabitant breathes, relieved.
In the quiet darkness, the fortress grows. Threads added. Tears mended.
The hearth is swept clean.
I don’t want to know what lives in our fireplace,
But I yearn for a dwelling as serene.