Deep cold air. Triangular spiderweb, curved like a sail, attached at two points to the house & at the third to an old dry poppy head in a pot on the balcony. Most of it invisible, but the edges & all the rigging picked out with frost. One patch of frost, about three inches in from the leading edge, minutely cross-hatched in the shape of a section through an ammonite. I can’t see if the spider’s part of that little structure. The effect is of a journey in a different regime to ours. Whatever medium is inflating the sail–whatever medium, conversely, is rushing past it–is not a property of our universe & cannot be defined by our way of relating to things. That’s why we have a duty of care to the spider. She’s sailing into an idea of winter we can’t have. Her perception, acted out as this structure, is a valuable resource. I’ve watched her mother & grandmother make webs there, and their mothers and grandmothers, right back into the historical times. They all built ships but none of them built quite like this.
As an illustration of the value of other ways of experiencing what is around us this is perfect. Love it. And thank you for it.
William Blake by way of Richard Matheson. Brilliant.
Hi Simon, thanks. Sorry I couldn’t make it the other day, let’s reschedule.
Hi Tim Cee. More Jakob von Uexküll by way of John Berger: but I get your refs…
Lots of people on Facebook have just got very excited about this post.
Hi L: I’m not on it, I’m afraid. So I’ll never know.
Another spider story you might like: http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2012/12/spider-building-spider/