Umbilical sundered,

Harper discharges the attendant comet

- there.

        What have you done?

The Arachnic moans.

I have let the balloon go,

Harper replies.

A blithe smile curling decoratively filigree

into one cheek.

a wry

why not? question mark

punctuating a shyly emerging

but eminently charming

dimple.

        You have let the balloon go!!!

The web-walker fairly shrieks,

        You have let go of your senses,

        You foolish, arrogant experimenter,

        wanton and childish and... and...

The Arachnid blusters to a stop,

for is not

Harper pointing starwards

and giggling? (innanely, the Arachnid thinks).

Far from whizzing away, exploding

into cataclysmic sparks

or behaving in any way wildly, self-destructive

or gloomy Dooms Dayish,

the comet is burning

yet more intensely

and fluctuating in colour both rapidly

and quite, quite

paradoxically.

One might even say,

excitedly were one inclined to superlatives.

        Oh my,

the Arachnid observes inconsequentially.

Oh my, yes,

Harper gloats, naturally,

oh, my

brilliantly childish

and wantonly sensational experiment!

As both she and spider gaze, fascinated

                                                up,

the comet,

if comet it be, draws in tail

as one might spring-wind a dog leash.

It then begins to descend

having apparently established

a rosy-red glow best suits

its new personality.

As it draws near

the assemblage, momentarily forgotten

begin to nervously croon, purr, hum, drone, mutter

in apprehension and outright 

                                       fear.

But not Harper.

She proffers wrist

intuiting justly that the rubicund traveller

might appreciate a perch

for as it approaches

she empirically notes

the comet is rather more phoenix-like

than previously distinguished.

The Arachnid meanwhile, shrinks, moribund

and would no doubt slink, incy-wincy

spider-like away

did not Harper insist:

No.

Don't go.

I think you should stay.

Truly.