A single strand of Spider silk shone like a golden thread attached to the rail of the Eastern deck. Illuminated by the raising morning Sun, at first I thought it was only connected on one end. I have witnessed baby Spiders, leaving their brothers and sisters by sailing off on strands of silk. Once they reach their destination, they disconnect from the strand and it floats in the wind like a thread from a frayed flag.
I noticed it was attached on the other end, to the roof of the screen house. The sun's illumination was so brilliant that I could make out many details. Where it was anchored to the rail, it was thick. I imagined that the spider had some process of connection that required more filaments. Further up, it was also thicker. Having learned how spiders unfurl silk to create bridges for travel, I considered the possibilities that might have lead to this thickness. Had there been a momentary strong wind that had caused Spider to make that section thicker, or perhaps a lapse in focus?
The strand waved in the light morning breezes, still strong, still functional, but abandon. I wondered if the spider might return to travel across its length once again, but thought that to traverse it again would only bring it back to where it started. In the hunt for food, traveling backward to a place where you know there is none is a waste. Then I was brought to stories I have heard about the Aboriginal people of Australia. On Walkabout, they will fashion Didgeridoos from wood they find along the way. They will play them until it is time to move on, then they leave them behind, like the Spider's strand. This got me thinking about the seduction of attachment and the wisdom of the Aboriginal people, and beauty of Spider's strand.
Today, I hope to have the courage to make something beautiful and leave it behind, creating space for me to do it again.