Spider

In front of me, against the blue seat, a spec of off-green something started moving, moving up. A spider, fragile and minute, crawling up its invisible thread. It fell, and crawled again. It got to the top of the bus seat, trying to walk along it, but the smooth blue plastic proved an impossible surface. It took a step or two and fell, then crawled and walked and fell again. It dropped inches and inches, caught itself, crawled up, pulled itself up the plastic, walked and fell again. Falling, crawling, and that was it. 

And then it fell too far. Then it seemed like all was lost. And suddenly it seemed to crawl along a different line, some other webbing indiscernible. And when it's my turn to leave I am careful not to disturb it. I kill most every spider I come across, but this one has worked so hard. It has had enough for one day. But I get up and the spider falls. And then I realize somehow the spider had become attached to me.