He moves like a ghost. He glides weightlessly, silently, across the path. His body seems to hover in midair as those spindly legs whisper him closer. Closer.
You won't hear him coming.
You won't hear him coming.
Not that it would matter. His jaws are too tiny to really bite you. This isn't a spider, it's a harvestman, a harmless fellow traveler in the autumn woods. Perched among the changing leaves, he welcomes us to the joys of autumn.
Let's hope for something scarier tomorrow.
Let's hope for something scarier tomorrow.
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