The lone wing flutters in the breeze, now detached from all but the steel-strong spider's web. Such a small intricate thing. Like all creations, it bears the signature of its Creator. The translucent wing, weightless, held in place by a semi-rigid framework. This visible skeleton appears frail, yet is strong enough to oscillate 180 times per second.
How did a single wing light upon this line of silk? Perhaps a common house fly died of old age--one month--and at death he gave up his wings, carried by a gust from a different place. Each wing a banner sent upon the wind to the four corners of the yard.
Maybe there was a struggle. An unsuspecting honeybee tending to the flowers, stopped to rest upon the glistening strand. When she went to leave, she was held fast. A struggle ensued as she fought for her life, eventually breaking free, minus a wing. Is there any hope for a honeybee amputee? Probably she just prolonged the inevitable.
Conceivably, the spider prevailed. Her gossamer lines restraining her prey. She moved quickly, dispatching the fly with her venom, before wrapping it in a silken to-go bag, a welcome midnight snack.
A wing and a web. Each strong and robust, yet each fine and gentle. Beauty resides in gentle strength.