Oh What A Tangled Web We Weave

There are times when writing my blog that it feels like my words go onto this ViewSonic screen then disappear into the digital ether.

I put the words out there and wonder if they are seen by anyone at all.  Has anyone else been caught up in my written thoughts or are they going from my mind through my fingers onto the keyboard and screen then flying on through the world never entangled with the thoughts of another?  I write my web of words hoping to catch a moment of a reader's time so that our lives might be entangled if only for that moment.

Like spiders, we bloggers use different methods to ensnare readers into our world. Am I like the spider in that I write to ensnare, or is it part of my nature to write?  If, a tiny arachnid brain knew that there was no longer an insect left to catch would it still built its web because it is driven to do so? I believe it might.  It might continue to lay down tiny strands of the stuff that eminates from within it; to form the patterns as it is driven to do. 

Many spider hatchlings are set adrift in the wind, landing where the circumstances take them.  Wherever it lands is the place the spider builds its web and its life. It may make some choices such as which branches will make the best anchor or which grassy spot will provide the most insects but circumstances determine much of its life. That's not really much different from us is it?  We, with our larger brains and opposable thumbs make many choices about where our lives will take us, but much of what happens is left to the wind. Our lives are moved by that breath that blows around us moving us where it will; changing circumstances that have an effect on us.

We weave our threads trying to set things up just right, so that we will have the home, the life that we choose. Often just when we think we are close to weaving things just the way we want them, that wind is back re-arranging our lives.  I think of that sometimes as I am out walking, especially in the morning when I, surprisingly, pass through a sticky wet web woven across my path. As I sputter and wipe the strands from my face I think about all the work put into that web. Some spider thought it had done everything right, picking an open place in the woods, a likely spot for an unsuspecting bug to fly, get caught and become breakfast.    How would the path I chose affect the spider's life or the life of the bug that would now fly freely through the same spot without being eaten?

I know how connected we all are. Many ancient people didn't have a word to represent just "me." That holds true for some primitive culture groups still.  There isn't a concept of just one person working alone without affecting the group.  We modern people have invented that idea thinking that it might even be true but the more we know, the more we know that everything we do affects another life.  Even by sitting in a chair we are not choosing to do nothing, we are actually choosing to not do something.  There is a difference, however subtle.

Look closely at what we see and we will see that there is a web touching it all however unnoticeable it might seem at first look.

The spider's genetics help decide what type of web it will build.  Some build the webs of story books, the type Charlotte built as she befriended Wilbur in E.B. Webb's novel.  Some build funnels that sit atop the grass luring its food toward the center of a cone where it will see its demise.  We usually see these cones in the fall when the dew is thicker, but this year I've already seen many of them in the mornings dotting the field as they glow with morning dew.

Other spiders are driven to lay a fine dense mesh of white across the forest floor. Are these to catch landing insects? Or are they maybe to trap bugs that come from within the ground, hatching then flying to their death?

I know I am not the only intruder to destroy the webs. Again we may see that the wind plays havoc with the spider's plan. Its breath blowing leaves which anchor a web or blowing debris into the structure.

But the spider goes on weaving as it is driven to do in the manner born into it as I believe it must.

As I must.

I'll go on writing whether anyone reads or not.  

I'll  continue to let my photographs inspire my own thoughts. My creations are important to me because they come from deep within my belly as does the spiders web. I'll go on seeing the connections that hold us together whether we be in India, Scandinavia, Greece or just a mile down the hill by the river. What I see will be determined by what is inside me when I look.  My view be driven by that breath that blows me where it wills. I may decide which path to walk each day, but the circumstances will determine what I will encounter just as they determine how my words may connect to you.