Webs

The influences of little things are as real,

and as constantly about us,

as the air we breathe or the light by which we see.

These are the small- the often invisible-

the almost unthought of strands,

which are inweaving and twisting by millions,

to bind us to character-

to good or evil here, and to heaven or hell thereafter.

-Tyron Edwards

I love webs.

I love that they are both gossamer and strong. I love that in the right light they are intricate and beautiful, and in the off light they become invisible but no less present. Waiting.

I love how in the morning dew they become strands of pearl.

Love nothing but that which comes to you woven in the pattern of your destiny. For what could more aptly fit your needs?

-Marcus Aurelius

I love how, almost every morning, my husband will walk right into an enormous web and flail around, wiping away unseen silk, defending himself against invisible assailants. A little joke shared by me and my mischievous eight-legged friends.

I love the infinite nuances of metaphor. The ties that bind us together. To pull at one strand is to move us all. Becoming ensnared in webs of our own making.

Symmetry. Circles.

I love knowing that spiders are not taught to weave, but rather produce these delicate works of wonder entirely by instinct.

They are driven to create, to bring into being these things of beauty and practicality.

What acts of beauty lie untapped within you?