In the sleepy hours of mid-morning, the window is misted and covered with drops of rain. The sky, a dull gray, waits beyond, looking quite tired itself. Tree branches sway slightly, bending to the mildly present wind. The view does not encourage the will to venture outside. Still, one cannot stay indoors indefinitely. Everyone’s individual world consists of all that is within the boundaries they make. For some, that can be one single building, or one single room. Most of us, however, need a wider variety to our world. Although the absence of the sun in the day steals away the desire to exit a warm bed, what is a little rain in the face of connection to the world at large?
Outside the bedroom window, it comes and goes. I glance up from the bed and find it absent. I’m relieved for the moment. The first time, I thought perhaps it had fallen and might not find its way back, or it had simply decided to move on. Then it came back, and I knew that I would have to put up with a fat, 2-inch spider in my window for a while.
It will be gone for days, sometimes, but then one day I’ll settle onto my bed and the obligatory spider-check will find that the menace has returned. From the window in the hall I can see it from the other side. I can see its web, attached to the outer wall of the building. This is, clearly, a prime spot for a spiderweb, and it seems rather doubtful that it will leave of its own accord. There is no indication that the spider wants to come inside – the second it does, I’m going on the offense-as-the-best-defense. So, for now, it’s no more than the potential for a problem. So, for now, I’ll just live with it.
With night falling, the spider’s silhouette becomes less and less visible, until I can’t see it at all anymore. I don’t know if it will be there in the morning, or if it will be gone, giving me a bit of space and peace.