Poem ~ Nothing, Not Nothing

The air is full of silk today. As I run the footpath along the edge of the salad fields towards the woods 
I have to brush the finest of airborne cobwebs from my face, again and again, nothing to see 
in my gloves, only what I can feel across my cheeks and lips, almost, but not quite, nothing.
Is there a name for the arena that exists between the visible and the invisible, between the detectable 
and the undetectable? A place where boundaries have been polished into insignificance? 
Is that the place where poetry finds us?Or if not poetry whatever you would like to call it – 
a place of wonder or stillness at your centre, connection, quiet epiphany?
I imagine the spiderlings climbing grass stalks, fence posts, pointing their abdomens into the air and releasing 
their silk and when the thread is long enough how the wind catches it and the spiderlings 
lift into the air like kites on a string of silk.Some days I am running through the marvellous.  

Photo courtsesy of Royal Society of Biology