Webbready

A few nights ago, I headed northbound on South Atlantic Avenue under the fleshed out leaves and full-figured branches of trees on opposite sides of the streets.  Several of their limbs reached out to each other like two magnets, and I worried that despite not being made of metal, that I would be ensnared by their magnetic field.  Although I had experienced this sight countless times before, at that moment their dark canopy made a street with which I am so familiar a mask to hide my surroundings.  The trees rendered the sky expressionless, the sidewalk invisible, and the homes where people lived and slept nothing more than dollhouses under the watch of the woody, silent guardians.  I am neither disposed nor averse towards low-light situations, yet for a rare moment, I was uneasy of the very plants themselves.