![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Aug. 28th, 2009 08:38 amThis up-and-out-of-the-house-by-7:45 thing is messing with me.
Nothing but grocery stores are open at 8:00! If a grocery-run is what's on the day's agenda, great; I'm SOL with time to kill if it's not.
Today, upon discovering that our insurance agent also doesn't open till after 8:00, I found myself drafted onto Four Mile Post as it went over the mountain. (Robust hill. Whatever. The locals think it's a mountain; who am I to ask whether any of them have seen the Rockies?)
Alright, thought I, We'll do this for a while. It's been wet the past few days. Maybe Krys's creek is back. Maybe the spiders and cicadas will let me sit near the rock this time.
(Last time, it had run dry. Last time there was physical and auditory static as thick as water between me and where the creek had run, to say nothing of the rock. Either the mountain loved you, Krys, or I haven't found my way back into the right mindset yet. Or both, which is where my money lies.)
And so I drove back up to the land trust.
At the first fork, I choose the path I've never walked before: if you only go looking for magic in places you've found it in the past, you might miss it where it is now. Ten steps down the way, I come face to face with an orbweaver's web. Right straight across the path it's strung, and too high to step over, too low to crawl beneath. There's breakfast quivering in its centre.
Right. Not today, then. Back we go.
Back up to the Certain trail, which makes me chuckle when I think of it, because it is kindof my one sure bet. It's been worked on recently: most of the near-path saplings are cut, and the ones left standing have been notched. The ground underfoot has been tamped and either scraped away to show rock or filled to bridge between rocks. Man-feeling all around. But I remember that the man-feeling was there at the bottom of the trail before, too. So.
Movement on a mossy log. I stop, watch. A granddaddy longlegs, looking like the CG wireform of a spider more than a spider itself, feeling its way through the verge. It meanders for a while, always avoiding the warm spot yours truly makes. There's a messy web tucked into the niche between a root and a hole. So.
Rain falls on the canopy above; down here it's only mist and the occasional drop. There's no dew on anything, though, nor any mud. Just after the second fork, the air across the path thrums. And there I am again, nose to dead insect with another orb web.
... Really?
Are we seriously going to do this?
Cattle prods would be less creepy and do the same job.
You're just creeped out because you haven't accepted us.
No, I'm creeped out because I can't seem to brush you off.
Same thing.
It's pretty though. Glad I haven't ruined it. Does it span the way, too?
No, it's strung at an angle. I step around it and go on, ignoring the whispery laughter in the back of my head.
Ten feet, maybe twelve, there's another. I walk into one of its anchor lines and curse, then crouch down and put a hand up so that if I find the web itself, it's with my hand instead of my face.
Guess where the web itself is.
Yeah, my new nose level.
Alright.
I get it.
I'm turning around.
Don't want to try your luck any further?
Why, are there more webs up that way?
Yes. They're pretty, too, and effective.
Doubtless. Why do you string 'em where humans walk, anyhow? We're a bit big to eat. Seems futile.
But you can see it isn't. There's food waiting that might've been missed if we hadn't woven there. If you keep going, maybe you'll run into one and hurt our work and yours. Is there something else you should be doing just now?
Which also feels like I've cast my net for prey too big for me.
Which also feeds me anyway.
I exhale.
Ah. Now I do get it:
You weave anyway; it's what you're built to do. If you don't, you starve.
But you don't freak out about it. You just do it.
I look at my phone. 8:30.
Thank you, Grandmother.
The insurance office is open when I pass it; I duck in and give them their cheque. Now it's a quick breakfast for me and back to binding things.
Dae saw two crows in the parkinglot this morning, munching on animal crackers by another mother's car. He called out a bright hello; they didn't flinch.
Yeah, it's shaping up to be a mirthful day.
:D Dry humor and a damp day. But merry.
<3
Nothing but grocery stores are open at 8:00! If a grocery-run is what's on the day's agenda, great; I'm SOL with time to kill if it's not.
Today, upon discovering that our insurance agent also doesn't open till after 8:00, I found myself drafted onto Four Mile Post as it went over the mountain. (Robust hill. Whatever. The locals think it's a mountain; who am I to ask whether any of them have seen the Rockies?)
Alright, thought I, We'll do this for a while. It's been wet the past few days. Maybe Krys's creek is back. Maybe the spiders and cicadas will let me sit near the rock this time.
(Last time, it had run dry. Last time there was physical and auditory static as thick as water between me and where the creek had run, to say nothing of the rock. Either the mountain loved you, Krys, or I haven't found my way back into the right mindset yet. Or both, which is where my money lies.)
And so I drove back up to the land trust.
At the first fork, I choose the path I've never walked before: if you only go looking for magic in places you've found it in the past, you might miss it where it is now. Ten steps down the way, I come face to face with an orbweaver's web. Right straight across the path it's strung, and too high to step over, too low to crawl beneath. There's breakfast quivering in its centre.
Right. Not today, then. Back we go.
Back up to the Certain trail, which makes me chuckle when I think of it, because it is kindof my one sure bet. It's been worked on recently: most of the near-path saplings are cut, and the ones left standing have been notched. The ground underfoot has been tamped and either scraped away to show rock or filled to bridge between rocks. Man-feeling all around. But I remember that the man-feeling was there at the bottom of the trail before, too. So.
Movement on a mossy log. I stop, watch. A granddaddy longlegs, looking like the CG wireform of a spider more than a spider itself, feeling its way through the verge. It meanders for a while, always avoiding the warm spot yours truly makes. There's a messy web tucked into the niche between a root and a hole. So.
Rain falls on the canopy above; down here it's only mist and the occasional drop. There's no dew on anything, though, nor any mud. Just after the second fork, the air across the path thrums. And there I am again, nose to dead insect with another orb web.
... Really?
Are we seriously going to do this?
Cattle prods would be less creepy and do the same job.
You're just creeped out because you haven't accepted us.
No, I'm creeped out because I can't seem to brush you off.
Same thing.
It's pretty though. Glad I haven't ruined it. Does it span the way, too?
No, it's strung at an angle. I step around it and go on, ignoring the whispery laughter in the back of my head.
Ten feet, maybe twelve, there's another. I walk into one of its anchor lines and curse, then crouch down and put a hand up so that if I find the web itself, it's with my hand instead of my face.
Guess where the web itself is.
Yeah, my new nose level.
Alright.
I get it.
I'm turning around.
Don't want to try your luck any further?
Why, are there more webs up that way?
Yes. They're pretty, too, and effective.
Doubtless. Why do you string 'em where humans walk, anyhow? We're a bit big to eat. Seems futile.
But you can see it isn't. There's food waiting that might've been missed if we hadn't woven there. If you keep going, maybe you'll run into one and hurt our work and yours. Is there something else you should be doing just now?
Which also feels like I've cast my net for prey too big for me.
Which also feeds me anyway.
I exhale.
Ah. Now I do get it:
You weave anyway; it's what you're built to do. If you don't, you starve.
But you don't freak out about it. You just do it.
I look at my phone. 8:30.
Thank you, Grandmother.
The insurance office is open when I pass it; I duck in and give them their cheque. Now it's a quick breakfast for me and back to binding things.
Dae saw two crows in the parkinglot this morning, munching on animal crackers by another mother's car. He called out a bright hello; they didn't flinch.
Yeah, it's shaping up to be a mirthful day.
:D Dry humor and a damp day. But merry.
<3
