THE SPIDER

There in the corner of my wall, hung an empty web, glistening from the lamplight behind me.

A delicate thread began to fall, and I turned my head, listening, trying to find my sight to see what was speaking in a whispered tone.

Something there, peeking at me, I was not alone.

I stood and tiptoed toward the thread and stopped when I saw what was hanging there. I could not know - reward or dread? - but I was drawn to her dangling there, where no one would notice, and no one would hear, except me. I was someone who would focus on her without fear, respectfully.

She worked tirelessly weaving her tiny threads in and out, creating this simple tapestry made of lace. I admired her tenacity, leaving no shreds upon this thin couette, just cascading dimples, her mastery laid in place.

The whispers I heard when I was unaware, were her songs that were sung as she tatted and weaved. Like vespers purred out into the air, the beauty prolongs -  nothing finished, nothing begun, just placidly conceived.

What could I do to create such a masterpiece with two hands, ten fingers, and a mind? At once I knew, eight spindly legs walk with such ease upon these strands, Zen lingers in places only she can find.

I turned back to take my seat upon the chair where I was reading. I lifted the book and turned the page to forget what I had just witnessed. O what I lack, my defeat was there, what was I needing? I shifted around to look, I had spurned the sage, this kismet – was there something I missed?

I stood again and approached her as she sat in the center of her lacy throne. “May I impose upon you to tell me your secret?”

I understood, she coached clearly, an odd little mentor, she amazed me with a word of her own, “Stay until the repose is gone, do nothing to quell being free from regret”.

I bowed to her then and silently withdrew, not knowing if what I had heard was real. I vowed there, quietly and she knew, “Repose and let the words heal.”

M TERESA CLAYTON

Inspired by Karen Stever