there are small gestures
in semi-sleep
as two bodies
rearrange themselves
under covers
where toes brush ankles
and one knee
hooks between two
outside
pre-dawn darkness
pools
big slow
droplets
rolling
rain
from the rooftop
inside
a bare shoulder
rests surrounded
in crisp air
skin uncovered
cool to the touch
it’s a simple motion
of a languid
other
hand
half-dreaming
that moves to pull
a soft sheet
up and over
that cold shoulder
one light pat
then gently drawing
back
to sleep
the mosquito buzzes
close to your ear
its high
strained
whine
a warning
that soon
there will be a landing
a tapping
for your blood
milk
has been put on the grocery list
October’s calendar marked
for costume shopping
and zombie make-up
for your son
tomorrow’s lunch
is in tupperware
for your husband
you finally RSVP’d
to the party
and the dog
well, he’s by your side
as usual
napping like a cat
but ready to follow
in an instant
tail a-wag
and anxious
for the next exciting thing
with any movement made
from your chair
you are not sleeping
but not fully
awake
and dreams are distant
from where you sit
this morning
you know
you are no
zombie
and blood-suckers
are swooshed away
yes
you are
in costume
you
artist
dreamer
stardusted traveler
all dressed up
like a citizen
a mother
a wife
The things you learn when you let the cobwebs gather.
Our bedroom gives a picture-framed view of Arachnid Dining 101. Intricate lairs are built in an afternoon, their trappings either wrapped or wriggling.
I wrote about the Enlightened Spider back in August (“Not Caught“) that wrestled with a wasp for supper. Though I do not wish death on any living thing, I found myself rooting for the spider (note, if it would have been a butterfly instead of a wasp, I may have felt differently – exploration for a future post, perhaps). When the wasp broke free and fell ten feet, my instinct (as I had suddenly become that spider) was to unravel my filament and go chasing my dinner. It would not slip away!
However, Enlightened Spider knew more. He/she had spun this yarn before. And instead of pursuit, it chose acceptance. It simply braced itself, all eight legs open and connected to the gossamer weave that blew in the breeze and rocked its body, gently. That spider’s life was literally hanging by threads. It would eat another day.
But what happens when you get the catch?
Still studying at the spider school, I learn that patience isn’t only practiced when you lose your lunch. Yesterday, Enlightened Spider reeled it in. A large beetle-kind of insect, plump and prime for any hopeful web-in-waiting. I felt empathy as it struggled in the sticky lines. As its predator held watch, demise was inevitable. Searching for a bright side to the circle of life reality before me, I was at least happy that the spider had a meal.
This was no fast food, though.
Six hours later, I pass the window and check in on wild kingdom. Sadly, beetle friend is still alive and moving beneath thickly wrapped threads. Patience exudes from the delicate limbs of Enlightened Spider who holds sentry nearby. Thin legs make small and deliberate movements, no rush about it. Clearly, this is a process. No instant reward. Calm composure is required, even when the catch is snagged.
Oh, Enlightened Spider, you offer the patience lessons. Reminders that even when our dreams come true, we need to work with them as they unfold. These things we imagine, then bring to form, are not quick meals to be devoured. They are gifts to be savored in a process. All of the risks, just a thread away. All of the promise, plentiful with potential.
That spider at my window knows that dinner’s in the bag. It’s just a matter of time.
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