This saint wants more--keep those night musings coming!
He’s every bit a spider, I think, even if he is a she. In the kitchen, with the fluorescent sink light reflecting back the shiny metal and dull plastic, the shimmery collection of colored glass, it was sublime. I watched it, silhouetted, as it hung up side down from a single strand, fascinated. Spiders have been a terror of mine for more years than I can say, but in that moment, it wasn’t repellent or threatening; a thing of alien beauty, with a life purely it’s own- abilities far removed from the human norm. I wondered, then, as I blew gently at it, what it would be like to be a spider. What would I think of myself, so large and loud, able to make the wind blow at a whim. Would it land on my face, if I blew too hard? What would I do? Would I scream, and kill it, wondering at the venom, or would I simply close my eyes, and try to feel, to commune, or understand? It climbed higher, after a moment, limbs flailing, and suddenly it was above the light, suspended in nothing, climbing the empty air. (Yup, another surrealist, self indulgently reflective moment, sometime in the middle of the night. Surely, these would try the patience of a saint by now. ) |
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Comments 1 to 3 of 3
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