High summer
in an old house
occupied by an army
of visiting bugs
brings dreams
of parachutes
for those I must evict
The one too many ones
the wrong kind of spider
a waving scuttler
scooped up
all elbowed legs
and angled hairy parts 
Then I run
the mercy packet
to the door
flung open to release
the tissue wrapped
passenger
and watch it float
down to sanctuary
on a bed
of violet leaves 

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A very old house. In the winter we have critters. Summer brings the bugs The right kind of spiders? Thin bodied long-legged spiders that look like Charlotte.