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I stood with my mother behind the screen door, watching the spider dance. Shimmering threads stood out against the velvety blackness of the night, the perfect backdrop to the performance. Flying to the side, then to the middle, out to the side again, then meeting back in the middle, the spider danced. Around and around, the spider jumped and spun, her legs moving effortlessly to catch and place the strands of web. We went to bed that night, before the spider finished her creation. The next morning, the web was gone. The spider hid from the sunlight, in a crevice in the porch ceiling, waiting for the curtain call.
The next night she was at it again. Despite her previous efforts, she had to start from scratch, first with the anchor lines, then the octagonal shape, then the vertical and circular patterns. I wanted to talk to the spider, encourage her and let her know her efforts were not in vain. I stood there a long time that night, watching the spider flit about her web. I think the fact that I almost heard her humming to herself shows that I have watched far too many Disney movies. Was she moving slower this time? The third night, the spider was tired. The web she made was small and pouch-like, in a triangle shape. I think she was making a nest to put her babies to rest before her departure. The next morning, all was quiet again. I looked for the spider in her crevice, but couldn't distinguish her shape from my low vantage point. In vain I waited for her in the evening, the hours slowly ticking by, before I resigned myself to the realization that she was not coming. I was invested in that spider. I took interest in her life, her routine, her dance. Funny how inconsequential little things like a spider spinning a web could be so peaceful and calming. In a time of frustration and confusion in my life, I simply wanted to stand and watch. I looked forward to my time with the spider. Now, as I pen this, a fly is buzzing in my ear, circling round and round my room as if flying a marathon. I wish the dancing spider back again.
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