The meticulous order of some - elegant, regular and meant for death.
The exuberant chaos of others - messy and changeable whichever way you look at them.
Is it the spinner that worries us - the spider, fungus or creeping caterpillar that made such gruesome beauty?
Or the small fear still lurking in our hearts from childhood that somehow we could get stuck, become a victim transfixed by threads we cannot escape?
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