There’s a spider in the corner of the ceiling above my desk.
I’ve seen her in the same spot for several days now, perfectly still, with her legs tucked in. I haven’t seen her weaving or moving. I can’t tell if she’s dead or meditating. Maybe this is her spellcraft.
There’s no web that I can see, but I still feel a thread of presence stretched between her and me. The room feels different when I notice her.
I want her to stay exactly where she is, silent and unfussy, sacred in her not-doing. I could do with a little of that stillness myself: simply being in place for a while, letting the threads of meaning weave themselves around me.
