Spiders have no name. Imagine any garden variety spider you’d see at the time of year you’re reading this. That’s the spider we’re talking about. It’s small and gentle and just wants to exist in the world, catching as many flies as possible while avoiding absolute peril.
We find our web-wielding wonder on the side of a shed; it could be a shed in your garden. The rough wood makes an ideal spot to relax and bathe in the natural surroundings. The twine washing line affixed to the wall via a sizeable rusty hook soars above the spider’s vision. It knows it well.
Around this line’s base, tiny, invisible threads are pleated and woven. Our spider knows this is a good spot for shinrin-yoku, just like any other creature. Any other. Like a fly, with this mindset and almost clairvoyant thought from our spider friend, a tiny fly buzzes by. The spider knows that all it has to do is wait. Wasted effort on watching and wandering would not help, not even slightly. The fly takes a perch on the base of the line; it quivers around none the wiser when suddenly a thread attaches to one of its six legs, then another. Now, its abdomen, head and all other appendages are caught. It struggles and almost cries for help when our spider friend strikes, joy filling up its closest analogue to a human heart.
Fresh from a hearty meal, our spider notices the sun is fading. The warmth emanating from beneath it was starting to dwindle, and it thought it was probably time to make its way to somewhere more comfortable for the night. Things are going well, was another thought from our spider.
To give you a broader picture, as mentioned before, our spider resides on the side of a shed, next to a rusty hook that holds a twine line, a washing line. This stretches and stretches further than the spider can see, but you can see it. You’re a bird for the time being. You’re perched atop the fence that contains the garden from the other living worlds around it. The furry brown twine of the line reaches all the way to the much larger shed, no, a house. You know that’s a house. Along its length, it is littered with little pegs. The humans use these to hold clothes to dry in the warmth and the wind. No clothes can be seen at the moment, just pegs.
A spattering of rain hits you. This is an ill omen. One, our spider friend has yet to notice and one you don’t want to stay for. You take off rising and rising.
Back to our spider, stop flying, and change your viewpoint. Staring upwards from the wooden shed wall, the line looks shorter than usual. A joyous tremor of a positive day, thought the spider.
In multiple swift actions, the spider’s legs started. Before you or I knew it, it was on the line to the house, hoping to find an entrance through a dainty open door or maybe through a crack or a crevice. Anything will do. The movement had continued, scuttling over the wooden pegs left by the humans and manoeuvring around, under and over any frays and specks. Progress was good.
A droplet, enough to knock a spider off a washing line in a garden, crashed into the peg in front of our spider. Shock was the first thing to hit. Then, thoughts had to be made about what could be done in this situation; complete terror had taken over, and only instincts remained. With a turn, all 8 legs making the work swift, our spider checked behind. All it saw was a wall of rain. A malevolent spirit of a torrent of water, washing away and pummelling everything in sight. The trees behind the shed were vibrating with energy that could only be produced by vicious winds and heavy rainfall. A storm one might call it.
This made it clear what needed to be done. Already about halfway across the line, our spider raced for the house. Odds are it could find a way in, and it would not have to deal with the fright flying towards it from behind. The sound of splashing was gaining on our spider as it continued its frantic dance, racing by pegs and frays and specks. Eventually, there was nothing more that could be done. The rain had caught up. Our spider needed shelter.
The only option was to take refuge in the teardrop opening of one of the wooden pegs. It would at least stop the direct buffeting coming from the heavens.
The noises that followed can only be echoed to us in this way. Imagine you’re inside a box, only it’s not a box as such because it has holes on two sides, a terribly crafted box maybe, but not a box you’d want to be inside when rocking and being thrown around in the ocean. Yes, you’re in the sea now, in a “box”, waves crashing and salty spray hitting your face. Revolting cold and wetness enveloping you, looking down at your feet, you see water filling your box, small waves in the puddles soaking your feet.
Suddenly, calm.
The rain had passed. We’re back to watching the spider now. The hell that had been set loose from the sky had ended. Our spider crept out of its “box”, taking careful and considerate steps to avoid larger droplets that still remained while hoping to rush to the house in case another storm like that closed in.
The path lay clear now, looking down the line. Most of the rain was gone, and there were no more pegs, frays or specks to contend with. The rain had softened everything. The air was fresh and new, even a little bit chilly. Our spider kept on creeping. A bit more pace than it had started with, but a welling of relief had built up inside of it. Its final thought was that everything was okay and today had been good.
Squish. Squelch. Crunch.
The bird. You can see the shed to your right now. You can see the house to your left. You wanted to see the rest of the spider’s story when the rain stopped. Instead, you ended its life, landing precisely on the line in the garden between the previously mentioned structures, where it paused to take in relief.
Oh well, you thought. Today has been good. I didn’t get that wet from the rain. I ate a few seeds. Even saw a spider living life.
Now, prepare to change your viewpoint for a moment once more. You take off, again soaring into the sky, and as you do, you catch a glimpse of the next garden over, the next world with all its living things. You spot a spider at the end of a washing line, right next to the house the line ends at. You start to see through its many eyes and begin to feel what it’s feeling.
Today has been good. I ate, I experienced, and I survived. Tomorrow will be good, just the same, hopefully better. You see a crack in the window seal off to the right and shimmy to find your way into the warm, welcoming house.