This morning I walked through the field, just after the sun had risen.
The grass is growing high - the tractor is broken down - the colors are
changing and the vibrancy of plant life is slowly ebbing.  
I turned toward the south and I saw one of the spectacular shows this
time of year,  if caught early on a cool, dewy morning, just as the sun's
rays pierce through them.  
There before me was the pre-autumn show of glistening spider webs.

I attempted to count the strands in the first web I found - there were
about 40.  I marvelled at the architectural skills - skills that must be
similar to those of the ancient Mayans - the mental power and physical
agility of those beings, able to build something so supremely delicate
yet firmly in its place (at least, until a bigger creature or harsh wind
moves it off its anchored course).  
I then saw another, and another, built in all directions - mostly the
same general size and shape.  In a few, I discovered its creator in the
center - still, and most likely at rest from the incredible task it had
achieved in the overnight hours while I slept, but no doubt perched in
vigilance as this intruder approached its center.  In some, I found the
remains of a captured bounty - a butterfly or other insect that had
chosen the inopportune moment to cross this arachnid's path.

It is a mid-September morning, and one of the reasons I love this time
of year is for this convergence of energies - the sun's light, the dew of
the condensation, and the advantage these brilliant and surreal
beings take of the tall, sagging grasses, purple knotweed and
goldenrod to build their masterpieces....thus rendering the confluence
of nature and art.  What we venture into museums holding collections
of interpretations of this beauty to remind us of the wonders around
us, and reminding us that art is as necessary as food and drink to
sustain us.

It is also 9/11, a date that of course now holds incredible and weighty
significance for humans, and particularly american ones.  I have so
many thoughts, I can't possibly fit them in one musing or
contemplation.

But for now, for today, I think of the spider webs, the beauty and
stillness of this morning's walk, and my prayers for inner and outer
peace...peace among neighbors, among family, among friends,
among nations, among strangers, within oneself.....
And as I think of the old ones, the Native americans, who taught and
continue to teach us the wisdom of living among rather than over
other living beings and the responsibilities we have as guardians of
this planet, I think of the lessons of spider -- and the words of Ted
Andrews in
Animal Speak:

"Grandmother Spider taught the mysteries of the past and how they
were affecting the future".


9/11/10
3.7.11

Nothing is Permanent.
We Have This Moment.

Blackbirds have returned.
Ice is melting off the trees.

Nothing is Permanent.
We Have This Moment.
in case we need a reminder....