My old friend at work in the Grove.
Lit by the sun, a single golden thread of silk (spun by a spider one supposes, but possibly by some other small creature), is attached to a young tree in the Pantiles. Its loose end waves and shines in the wind.
When the real world and the virtual world meet: two people, one of them me, in different countries and time zones are, by agreement, jointly editing the same document. Unexpectedly and unknown to each other, both open the document and begin to move their cursors over it at at the same time. Each feels that he is intruding on the other, and exits to come back later.