A tiny, dark spider races over the flannel hills of my shirt—which, I now notice in this storm light, is more purple than gray.
spiders
Friday July 06, 2018
A tiny spider sits in a web linking mock orange to clothesline, which runs through the elder tree—she must feel each vibration in the yard.
Wednesday September 13, 2017
Beads of rain reveal an orb-weaver’s web hung impossibly high above the garden, its maker like one darker drop with her legs tucked in.
Friday February 17, 2017
Bright sun, deep blue sky. A Canada goose flying over the mountain all by itself honks anyway. A small spider runs across my coat.
Monday September 05, 2016
Clear and cool. The orb-weaving spider whose web spans the end of the porch hides against the house with only her gray underside showing.
Sunday August 28, 2016
A warm morning, and all I hear are the birds of winter: chickadee, nuthatch, pileated woodpecker. A dead cranefly dangles from a spiderweb.
Friday March 25, 2016
One wood frog still calls in the marshy corner of the field, late for the orgy. Under the porch railing, the first, tiny spiders of spring.
Friday September 25, 2015
Breezy and cool. The spider with the banded legs at the end of the porch clutches the husk of a stinkbug, rotating it, looking for morsels.
Tuesday September 08, 2015
A fat spider on a web in the eaves retracts her banded legs, making herself as small as possible when I approach. The rooster’s rasping cry.
Monday April 06, 2015
Clouds gather and, over the course of an hour, disappear again. A small red spider rappels down from my glasses onto the red porch floor.