among iron artwork

among iron artwork

a fractal spiderweb

fragile ever-new

Sitting in the morning sun, digging dandelions from the stone walkway, I am thinking about the persistence of small things. The woodpecker holes in the cedar posts holding up the hard yet fragile glass. The robin throwing himself repeatedly against his rival's reflection in the west window. The sprinkling of flying ants dead on the sunroom floor. How did they get in? The patina on the iron palm leaf fence designed by Antonio Gaudi a hundred years ago, a delicate spider web woven between the metal spikes, each silk strand five times stronger than steel. Gaudi, who said, "Originality is a return to the origin."

summer solstice -- raindrops

summer solstice -- raindrops

spangle petals, seed heads,

a sagging spider web

Summer solstice came a day early this year, on the 20th of June instead of the 21st. But the longest day of the year made its presence felt as temperatures hit 90 F (32 C) with 52 % humidity. Then, after the shortest night of the year, we were blessed with a tiny bit of rain this morning, enough to bedeck with glistening drops an electric red rose blossom, the fuzzy golden seed head of a tree peony, the fireworks display of an allium seed head, and a drooping spider web.

faerie hankies

faerie hankies glow

lacy white in the meadow

on a foggy morn

Every day I pass the same patch of wildflowers, blind to the invisible spider webs ensconced on the dead stalks. This morning the fog reveals their secret, outlining the delicate strands with sparkling dewdrops so that the silken cups glow like little lanterns in the dim light. As children, we called them faerie hankies, secretive and ethereal, or granny's doilies, like the white lace doilies that decorated every surface in our grandmother's house.
          The spider that weaves this sheet web is even more invisible than its web. About the size of a sesame seed, with black and white striped legs, it hangs upside down between two horizontal sheets, the upper one thicker than the lower one, with the whole contraption suspended from vertical threads of silk. The spider waits in the empty space between the capture net and its own safety net. When a flying insect bumbles into the tangled obstacle course, it tumbles down on the concave mat and gets caught by the spider waiting below.
          When I return home in the afternoon, the sun has burned away the fog and the faerie hankies have vanished. But now that I know where to look, I am able to spot the tiny spider, seemingly suspended in midair between the dead stalks.