A few degrees above freezing. In the half dark I can just make out a spider descending from the rafters into my lap. Where is she off to, I wonder, so late in the year?

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.

I shift my boots on the railing, and the spider that had been keeping watch from its web retreats to the eaves and curls up like a fist.