The dream-roll

The window on the roadside creaks and opens. She dusts off the webs of idle desire that had long before nested on those untouched bars. A sneeze rests on her nose, but is adamant on the stay, much like the dreams she salved from the sun and the sweat, the fret and the froth, the rain and the rust. Before cocooning back to the quietness of her tiny abode, her grey eyes greet the early rays of the sun. They seem to whisper to her: "we carpet the day before you, stride forth!" As she turns back with a subtle smile, the spider has begun to play with its craft over again ...