With the Spiders
Lately I have felt strangely aware of the presence of spiders around me; particularly the different local species and their behaviors. They inspired me to write:
God is with the spiders.
In the silky-soft hanging of the web,Â
In the climbing on nothing and the walking on air,
In the feeding on the body, supping on the blood,Â
In the riding of the young on mamas back,
In the sticky sweat of dew on a thread,
In the Recluse fiddle or the blackest Widow,Â
In the warning and the sting,
In the Weaver and the Wolf,
In the scrawling of a name in the Book of Life,
In the same etched by the Writer on her string,
In the Huntsman stalking or the Jumper bounding,
In the Trapdoor and her burrow,
In the crevice where silence rules and death or life may sleep together,
In the spindle, wagon wheel or crucifix where webs are hung,
In the corners of a room steeped in memory,
In the attic reliquary where they keep their watch,
In the chancel where their vigil stands unending,
In the dock wherein a fishing boat (once pined for) rusts,
God is with the spiders.