Each morning, I wake up to find new treasures have been woven in the night. Throughout the yard, spiderwebs laden with dew lie horizontal to the earth. In the field, at the tips of the tallest grasses, more spiderwebs have been woven perpendicular to the grass. As I tiptoe among these singular and separate masterpieces of art and architecture, I wonder about the different types of spiders who wove them.
Did that tiny delicate brown creature work through the night to weave this new web?
Was it aware of the half-dozen others who worked nearby, spinning their own separate webs?
Do they start over again each night or can a fortunately located web withstand the wear and tear of a day?
Could they know that they have made a labyrinth for me to walk this morning?
I don’t usually notice the webs in the afternoon when I am watering the garden or throwing a frisbee but perhaps that is a result of my seeing (or unseeing) rather than their being (or unbeing). It doesn’t seem possible that a creation of such importance and such beauty would only exist at dawn. I imagine the spiders don’t waste much time worrying about the longevity of the web they are creating. They are born to weave and so they do. But the webs only catch my eye in the low light of the early morning when the fragile threads have collected dew. I rarely see the spiders who made the webs. They have probably gone to rest nearby, nestled deep in the grass while they wait for an insect snack to land on their finely woven dinner plate.
Walking around the webs that are scattered among the apple and plum trees in the orchard, I notice that I am weaving a landing space too.
Can I apply what I have observed and imagined in the spider’s work to my own?
Can I devote myself fully to the creative impulse, without worrying about its purpose or longevity?
Can I trust that the web of life I am weaving will sustain me and also contribute to a larger community of life?
As I turn to leave the labyrinth of webs and walk toward home, I recognize the familiar feeling of leaving this opportunity for inward reflection to turn outward toward the action and motion of the day. This is an ever-repeating and greatly appreciated pattern in my life ~ turning inward to reflect, outward to act, and inward yet again. There is a very natural, ongoing cycle of inspiration, motion, renewal, inspiration, motion, renewal…It is as natural and as necessary as both inhaling and exhaling, holding and releasing.
May I settle into this rhythm with renewed attention and devotion ~ and with gratitude to the spiders who offer a stunning reminder each morning.