In a hole
In a hole in a wall, right next the padlock on my out-house door, lives a spider called Nora.
Every time I visit the shed (most days), I need to remove her web to unlock the door. That beautifully crafted, hope-filled web that had been created by Nora expertly and meticulously since my last visit and that she has repeated every day between all of my trips to the shed, with one quick swipe of my hand, is gone. This creation, as strong to her as it is delicate to me, will be rebuilt by Nora, and another and another, as she always does.
Does she get annoyed do you think, with my daily destruction of her home? I don’t do it to spite her or to hold power over her little existence. I do it because I need to get into my shed (where a large proportion of my life plays out clearly). Every day I come by, hoping that she’s moved away but I find a new web in place of the old and I destroy what she has made. Yet she will come out again and will spin a new web.
It makes me smile when I see a new web. I’m glad she was able to rebuild. Her tenacity is admirable though I wonder if she likes her web being broken down, challenging her to start again each day. Maybe she doesn’t know any different. Maybe she has all she needs, right there, despite the daily restart, and so she doesn’t need to move hole. Maybe she will put up with it for so long until one day she’s pushed too far, throws her legs in the air and packs her bags in disgust.
I don’t know what Nora thinks about our daily battle but I always manage to utter the same words.
Bloody Nora, stupid spider.