“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.” *
….
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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August 8, 2012 at 7:06 pm
I like all the dew droplets across the web. Great shots!
October 16, 2011 at 10:30 am
Ever trying to overcome my fear of spiders, I will say she is lovely. But, your words were even more so in this entry. Lovely pieces of poetry here!
October 18, 2011 at 10:21 am
Thanks … After that Abram quote (how often do we read “from whence”?!), I kind of felt obliged to write more freely. Glad you liked it!
October 13, 2011 at 4:40 pm
We have grass spider webs all over recently, especially in the hedges. The webs are beautiful.
October 14, 2011 at 7:33 pm
Yep, especially when wet.