And see, once more I am tangled in my own web.
Silly little spider – can’t quite seem to get it right.
I follow the threads as they unfold,
But they keep folding back upon one another.
My feet get stuck in my own glue.
I get wound around the axle and soon I cannot move.
I forget a spider’s web is dependent upon finding the framework on which it its suspended.
It bridges gaps between the limbs of trees or the corners of an eave.
Flat surfaces will not do – there must be a space to bridge.
That’s where you catch ideas: where gaps are open,
Where differences almost converge – and then, on a whispered thread, they do.
It’s when I focus on the web and not the gap that I get tangled –
When I watch myself too closely,
When I worry about the beauty of the web,
Rather than the beauty of connection.
Silly little spider.