Fragments From Floyd

And Yet More Spider Lore

On the second day at Campbell, I gave Elizabeth (the 'teacher') the Autumn section of what may someday become my little book as the requested sample of my writing. Some of the selections were accompanied by images that had appeared in Fragments. Being a spider fancier, she was especially drawn to the spider pieces and images (including the one about the Gossamer Spiders from a year ago). She and I had discussed publication in magazines-- an field in which she has a lot of experience. She thought an editor would see something out of the ordinary, sit up and take notice if he saw a longish well-crafted essay plus images on spiders. So, she suggested that I find another funnel web spider like the one we had seen on an afternoon walk, and get to know this late-season ground-dweller.

So, there I sat, cross-legged at the edge of the woods, clipboard held in the crook of one arm, staring intently into the many eyes of a spindly spider standing at the mouth of his tubular web. I felt somewhat foolish, but this is a familiar experience throughout my tree-hugging history, so made good use of my time and I took a few notes. When I got back to the studio, it turned into an interview with a spider. I don't know that this is what Elizabeth or I were expecting, but I share it with Fragments readers because you've already read nuttier stuff here before. If you're new here, no, I'm not on any medication to go off of.

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THE SPIDER TIMES

Visibility spells disaster to a webweaver, and so finding the invisible bunker-webs of a certain funnel spider this gray morning will be half chance, half determination. I know that I am walking past dozens of them right now and they are laughing at me. Dew is no friend to spiders. It makes a mockery of their careful nocturnal stealth. But dew was the only thing that allowed me to find a funnel web just before the midmorning sun evaporated the evidence.

I realized how little I knew of this creature I planned to visit for an interview this morning. My mind was full of questions and the resident spider was not talking. I warmed him up with small talk.

I notice that your web here faces south. Can you tell me if this is the result of chance or design? If by design, would you please tell me the purpose? I can imagine the early sun warms your cold joints, begins the flow of juices in your arachnid brain like my first cup of morning coffee.

Do you build this web new each day? Is this design up to you at all? Or in your building and feeding and thought are you bound by the knee-jerk hardwiring that passes for decision and choice in your tiny world? And I'm sorry, but your funnel web is, shall we say . . . rather modest by comparison to your superiors who build wide artsy webs in the food-filled air overhead. Is yours then a subordinate position? Were you not able to compete in the larger, busier world above? How is it that you make any sort of living at all here on the ground?

"No comment", said the spider. I groped for my next topic.

Well, with your basement shop here, I suppose that your meals consist of drop-in guests … springtails, maybe and goofy neophyte grasshoppers that simply leap with abandon because it is what they do, having no earthly idea where they will come to ground. Perhaps you hope in a silver tube that is your dining table?

The spider looked past me with all of his eyes, unfocused, at something in the distance.

Okay. I was hoping that you would be able to tell me a bit about what the world looks like from your perspective standing there at your front door those long hours, waiting. Watching. I believe that with your larger eyes you can see movement in a fuzzy uncomprehending sort of way, and can move toward the motion or away according to some crude on-off pattern. Is this correct? But I'm especially curious about your simple eyes that merely detect light from dark. You see, in my world too there are those who claim to have these eyes that can discern the Dark Evil Ones from those who, like themselves, are of Pure Light and Truth. But that is a matter for another time.

If you will forgive me, you do seem a captive of this web of yours, and by your low caste in the Great Chain of Being. Perhaps this is enough. Monotony is security, n'est ce pas? But don't you sometimes wonder what life is like, floating like gossamer spiders on fibers of light, drifting free of funnels, of boundaries, of gravity itself?

Of course, you do have your little store to mind. It is what you know how to do. I'm sorry to have bothered you. I'll be in touch.

Posted by fred1st at November 14, 2003 05:14 AM | TrackBack