Spiders

I’m watching a spider crawl around the roof of a golf cart. Its web, broken from some force more violent than my own, floats from the edge; a single, silky string trying desperately to connect from one point to another.

Over time, the spider disappears. It has moved on somewhere that I cannot see, somewhere that I cannot follow. It goes on ahead, trying to find its way back to the broken web. Trying to fix the damage and make its home once more.

Spiders are solitary creatures. Like many insects, everything they do benefits them in some way. There is no family of spiders, hidden away from my eye. There is no friendly mother figure who keeps pigs from dying. They live on their own, using the world around them to the benefit of themselves. Kind of like me. Not to say that I am a solitary creature out of desire, or anything. I’m not. I don’t want to be. But I am a solitary creature out of force. For the most part, I am alone. Trapped, my web broken and not going anywhere, not connecting to any other place.

I can try and fix it. And I do. Day, after day, after day, I slave away on my web, pulling it into new directions, trying to find points to push onto so I can survive. But something comes. Something larger than myself. Some force that keeps my web from being whole.

I feel ridiculous talking about a spider like this. But I can’t help but wonder, as I look at the roof of this dingy old golf cart that’s been in the driveway for such a short time (and yet it feels like forever), whether or not the spider succeeds. Whether or not he finds his web or makes a new one, and leaves this same old stale place he’s been.

Or maybe he won’t. I see him again, some kind of bug in his mouth.

Maybe this is exactly where he wants to be. Maybe, this little golf cart that represents my starting point is really where he wanted to be all along.