They reach for the twig Tangled in their hair As they straighten. They mutter as they tuck it Into the canvas bag Hanging from their shoulder. I don't think they know That they have mud Smeared on their face. "Isn't it beautiful?" They ask with wonder Sparkling in their eyes. I look at the hawthorn With it's deep red haws And rich dark leaves. "Yes," I agree "but we should go." They gaze longingly At the tangled hedge. "But perhaps not with your guest." I say pointing at the spider Resting on their sleeve. They whisper "Thank you, But you are needed here." And gently move the spider. We gaze in awe At the jewelled webs As we return to our hearth.