Nightfall

I set a spider lose in the yard, who's probably going to die.

It wasn’t right away.

Trapping him under a clear cup, he shared this prison with me today.

Nightfall gave him a far better chance at survival.

Trapped he surrendered, curling his legs in. If he could weep, I imagine he was sobbing. By the end of the ordeal I put him through, I imagine he’d lost all sense of hope. My tax paper folder slid under the cup ever so gently. He didn’t even want to move anymore. The cup guided him onward, forcing him to move—whether he was ready, or not. My heart broke a little, but it was better this way. The world could’ve easily consumed him.

He gently walked out into the thick forest of dense grass with canopy enough to protect him, with more Silverfish than he could ever eat, more cracks in the foundation to call home than he would ever need.

He’s a wolf, maybe his will is strong enough to survive the transition.

Who knows, but at least he has hope. With that, he has all he could ever need in the darkness of nightfall.