Spider Web Walk

It’s September. In the southern USA, it’s Spider Season.

They are everywhere, building webs across walkways, tangled in playsets. There is even one who took over my hammock. With a little careful rearranging, we have managed a truce on that. She has one end of the hammock. I have the other. An uneasy truce.

I am not a big spider fan.

But I am even less a fan of the random bugs (looking at you mosquitos) that get trapped in their webs. So we formed an alliance. Not a warm fuzzy trust-y alliance but a practical eat-what-bites-me-and-I-will-share-my-hammock alliance.

A morning walk

I hadn’t thought of that.

My first clue was the walking stick leaning against the fence at the trailhead. It had no doubt been pressed into service as a web-clearing device. Then it was left there for the next traveler who would traverse the web-crossed trails. An act of kindness.

I took my own walking stick, leaving the tool for the next person, who might not keep a walking stick in the trunk of their car. How unprepared!

Flailing at Spider Webs

The giant web wasn’t blocking the trail and I was on their turf. So I went under.

But I flailed my walking stick up and down and across in front of me as I walked down the trail beyond it. Sandy looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

Which I had. My goal had been to take a calming walk in the woods with my dog. To enjoy the trees and plants and birds. Mindful. Calm.

I didn’t do any of that.

I was too busy trying not to walk into webs and failing several times. Then doing the ritual dance of: Where is it? Is it on me? Get this web off me!

Apparently we were the first ones on the trail that morning.You’re welcome, everyone who came after us.

The sad ending

No mindfulness for me there.

I’ll tell you in next week’s email how I managed to find mindfulness in an unexpected place.