Glimpses of spirit, story, and silliness...
There’s a spider in the corner of the ceiling above my desk.
She’s not weaving, not moving – just there, perfectly still. Legs tucked in, waiting
I’ve seen her before, in the same spot, several days in a row. Not nesting, not spinning. Just watching. Or maybe just ebing. I can’t tell if she’s dead, or meditating. Maybe this is their spellcraft.
There is no web – no visible one anyway – but I still feel it. A thread of presence stretched between her and me. The kind you can’t see, but that changes the room when you notice it.
I don’t want her gone, I want her to stay excatly wher she is: silent, unfussy, sacred in her not-doing. A reminder that sometimes your whole purpose is to simply be in place and let the threads of meaning weave themselves around you.
