The Spider

The tiny spider
rappels down a strand of its own creation.

I marvel at how it creates its own path.
It will drop to the floor,
and drag its line behind it
as it scuttles across the floor,
climbs back up the wall,
and completes another strand
of the web it is building
in the rafters of my basement.

But at the moment
its target is my laundry.

A little puff of air
passes my lips…
and the spider dances
at the end of its line.

Frantically it retreats…
absorbing its silk as it climbs
to the apparent safety of its web.

I imagine it glaring
from its perch.

With a silent salute
I honor its craftsmanship…
the mysteries of its creation;
but it will never know—
or care—
for it follows its instincts
as I follow my needs
and we create the webs
of our lives.

It starts its downward trek
once again assaulting the floor.

This time I let it pass.

I have collected my laundry
and can leave it
to finish its task.

A simple puff of air…
and we both prevail.