Summer cicadas toll the end of the season. Back to school, back into the entanglements of work and papers to grade and recs to write. Saturdays get covered in pencil and pen marks on pages and pages. And they spill over to stain Sundays. Even a cool, fresh, still green day like today. A spider likes to spin a trap across my backdoor each night. A big spider. But some days, when I sit with a pile of ninety essays beside me, I feel the web already here inside the house.