May 29

Down from a ladder, a large, wide spider with legs so thin that are slithers of air.

It slides down its thread. I watch it and think: I spend all day blundering about the world, bouncing off its corners and my corners, and here is something so small, so slight and yet so careful coming down in front of me with less than a whisper, so much less then me and yet so much more.

With great care and respect, I pinch the thread and move it over so the spider lands in a safer part of the room. It scuttles away silently, slipping into almost invisibility on the carpet.