A spider discovered the wonder of the shadows it could make with its body. It was one of those spiders that was all legs, a cellar spider, and it found that by reaching forward and gently touching the ground with the longest of these, the shadow beneath would meet its tip and complete a shape like the nib of an old fountain pen, or the flinty blade of a spear. Meanwhile, its back legs arched to form the articulated ceiling of a cloister, and contracted to produce the bars of circus cage. The possibilities seemed endless, the limits yet to be found. But the end came quite soon, in the shape of a bird who spied its prey, thoroughly absorbed by the act of creation, dancing with itself out where the sun was brightest.

As it was snatched away, the spider saw its flailing shadow collapse and shrink, and its tiny heart was broken.

© Richard Parkin 2026

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