Every fall, as the sun tilts lower in the sky and summer heat fades into autumn's mellow warmth, it happens. Spiders of enormous size begin to appear in my yard (and sometimes in my house) as if they are gathering momentum against the coming chill.
And for a few glorious days, they spin webs of outrageous complexity across my rose bushes and trellises and front porch.
If I'm very lucky indeed, during this brief week of industrious hard work, there will be a foggy morning or two. Tiny beads of water accumulate on the delicate strands, and when the light hits them just so, these geometric marvels spring into bold relief and fairly glow.
On this particular morning, I counted eight gigantic webs, easily eighteen inches in diameter, within just a few feet of the window where I stood.
Some webs were empty but most were populated by their big, brown creators, and though I do not appreciate a spider cruising around inside my house, I adore them in the out of doors.
And though I know that she is merely a figment of a clever man's imagination, I can't help but think that one of my spiders may be the original Charlotte, or perhaps one of her clever children, and I peer into the fine white filaments, looking for one of her famous messages.
So far, I have never found one. But I'll keep looking because as long as spiders spin webs of such beauty and detail, absolutely anything is possible.
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Care to read my review of E.B.White's classic spider story? Check this out: