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.  

Photo courtsesy of Royal Society of Biology