Spider web

 Your intricate pattern is like a lace curtain at a window, though your beauty is outside hanging from the edges of my flower pot to my hummingbird feeder.

You are invisible until the sun shines its rays upon you. Then your sticky spun web is seen in its glory. Beautiful rectangular and square shapes are connected with your silky thread to the circular core in the center, looking something like a window shattered by a bullet.

 If I knock your artwork down, it will appear again tomorrow. Yet where is your maker, the spider? I don’t see him, only his creativity.