This bit of tattered bark is hanging on to the branch by just a few silk threads woven by resident spiders, or so it seems. Today’s winds can’t break the silk.
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What is this? Are those eyes in wrinkled skin?
It’s funny when you take things out of context that a familiar item can appear to be something else entirely. And when the leaves fall from the trees and suddenly you see the eyes in the bark of the silver maple you’ve walked past every day.