at my feet, I saw you working.
hind legs, whichever ones,
pulling sticky silk to form
the kinds of things you were built to make.
I jerk my leg, only momentarily.
In all fairness, you are a spider.
But in the moment, I recognize your place.
Really, you have no intention of bothering me.
So today, I have no intention of bothering you.
I watch you work so hard. And so fast.
I become aware of my place. My power.
My ability to wash it all away, knowing good and well,
you will just start over, because it’s in your nature.
To spin and and release your web
when their is a thrust of force
or mighty wind.
Yet here you decide to work.
To be fair, there are these fruit flies.
I feel a little insulted.
Like maybe you’re telling me something
I don’t already know.
To not leave out my apple peels on a warm day,
or sweet milky tea before I sprint out the door.
I know, I know.
But life just gets to be so busy.
Especially so for a spider of your size,
maybe a little bigger than a green pea.
Yet smaller than a dime.
Your design is nothing short of flawless.
We are all here for balance.
I recognize that if I take more than I need,
especially in my space,
I am taking more than I require.
The life of a spider seems to be one of constants:
movement, spinning, letting go, small moments of excitement
Much like mine.
Today though, it is our space.
You spin yours.
And I, mine.
moving. spinning. letting go.
indulging in the small moments that give us both life.