Web the Size of My Torso

I looked out my window upstairs.  Half the foliage will be gone soon.  There won’t be much left to cover our view into the back yard neighbors. Halloween decorations are going up and I must question how much longer I can continue to wear shorts.  And in Beijing, spiders all seem to become very busy, to catch all they can, before winter. 

I pulled my bike out of the garage and laid it against the hedge.  What had been empty space before me suddenly revealed itself as a fascinating web the size of my torso.  A gnarled little orb-weaver spider, built like a thumb joint, had dashed up and away from the center of his web.  I watched him go.  Upwards towards the pine tree with remarkable steady progress along the line.  As if his body weight were of no great concern. 

Within seconds he was up into the pine needles and completely hidden from view.  I turned to look at his work.  The scale was enormous.  It was anchored by a thread to the tree above, and fastened to the hedge and then again to the house.  Wispy, dry carcasses hung on the webbing.  Midges and May flies mostly.  It seemed a modest catch and it made you wonder if this spider was getting enough to eat.    

I stood for a while, but he remained hidden in the trees.  Later when I returned I was much more careful about laying by bike on the hedge.   He hadn’t returned.  I checked the next few times I went out, hopefully.   I began to consider that perhaps I’d done irreparable damage to his design.  Maybe, he’d wisely decided that this location was bad-news.  Whatever shook the hedge the first time is likely to return.  As I do.  

And what’s he up to tonight?  Is he reinforcing the existing creation or has he taken up a new empty space between three other objects?  Do you sleep, lightly as a spider, or can you rest soundly, knowing nothing edible is likely to become caught until the dawn?