Some might say wicked lucky, but I don't buy it. This one, she's brilliant. I know you can't tell it from the picture, but trust me. She's written her web in front of the electronic eye of our porch light. And she's still enough to pull it off. Every time a opossum or raccoon or Tula walks by, she has dinner: The light clicks on. The millers fly in. Voilà.
I can see Araneus newly hatched, explaining her idea to a sac of dubious black and yellow argiopes. Most of the spiderlings send a silken thread into the wind in search of saner havens. But she doesn't care. She's sure of herself. Capable. And though the fare is mainly moths, she doesn't complain. On the contrary, she's altogether content. Simple, she knows nothing of ingratitude.
Taking a picture of a spider causes no little discomfort in me. I took a picture on each side of this web, and the other side's picture turned out blurry - I imagine from the shaking camera. I can't get rid of the feeling that she will lunge at me if I get too close. She doesn't. She schemes, surely; doubtlessly, she dreams. But she's a wise and patient beast.
3 comments:
Um...how big is that beast?
Dan, that spider, unfortunately gone now, is about two inches from claw to claw. It's big, but not as big as its cousins around the house, the black and yellow argiopes (garden spiders) - some of those spiders living around my house grow 50-75% bigger - according to what I've seen and measured. And I don't measure bodies when I measure spiders, but legs - for me it's all about their reach.
Yikes!
Keep 'em south of the Mason Dixon, will ya?
Post a Comment