Making Rose Petal Whistles: The Despised and Unlovely (final, maybe)
I could not find many references to spiders in literature, so I’ll make my own:
A Spider’s Sonnet:
It’s a spider’s walk across the webbing,
The warp and weft sway soft before the breeze.
We gaze at nothing through sunlight’s ebbing,
Still thoughtless we gaze, giving us no ease.
Hang on tightly to a gossamer strand,
Yes, we are assured, it will bear the weight,
It’s all we’ve got, so keep it in your hand,
We shall not fall, for that is not our fate.
Induction is reason down a funnel,
And facts are flies trapped in strands stretched tightly,
Thoughtless food trapped in a fragile tunnel
Through which we thrash and trip far too lightly.
Prometheus is pushing uphill yet,
Arachne’s still weaving to win the bet.
Ambush Spider in a Yucca Blossom
Delicate and lovely, light as gossamer before a gentle afternoon breeze, or cobwebs, pure and simple. I can find no one who will champion the spinners of gossamer. Other than Arachne, who dared challenge Athena to a spinning and weaving contest, it is hard to find any endearing tales of charming deeds or parables regarding them. In fact, it seems that most references to them have a dark view: Webs of intrigue, black widows, and such. We attach high emotion to them and they are totally oblivious to it. They are certainly no respecter of anyone’s title or position, or anyone’s great abilities at reasoning or not. They find their way into the houses of the powerful just as easily as the houses of the poor.
If persistence is a virtue, then spiders are virtuous; tear apart their webs, and they will just proceed to rebuild them.
Tarantula (pen and ink by A. Leon Miler)
aleonmiler 