“The sensorial landscape … not only opens into that distant future waiting beyond the horizon but also onto a near future, onto an immanent field of possibilities waiting behind each tree, behind each stone, behind each leaf from whence a spider may at any moment come crawling into our awareness.”   *

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Here by Little Crum Creek, a grass spider has spun its home on some pokeweed.

Emerging from funneled retreat between leaves, it will dash across a dew-dappled plane to capture some prey.

Insects don’t stick to its web.  Instead, overhead threads waylay them enough for the spider, in a flash, to get its way.

Tens of these deceptions dot the hillside.  And autumn’s morning sun reveals them.

Here & there, dampened filaments glisten upon ivy, summersweet, azalea, grass, and even the wooden railings of backdoor steps.

Our warm days are passing. But still we can meet the spider:  Get our shoes wet.  Crouch beside a reflective plane.  Peek behind its surface, inside a crispy, curled, brown leaf thought hollow.  Or simply wait, as any spider in the tunnel of a moment has waited  …  calls of jays, a rising sun, the leafy rustle of squirrels  …  and see what comes.

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