A walk, a walk. It’s always a walk.
It’s a walk I crave, when I’m prickly, crabby, hemmed in, confused, irritable.
It’s a walk I need when I’m bursting at the seams from sunshine! after so long! and warm afternoons! after many, many, cold mornings!
I need to just go, and some days I convince Alden to come along. He ALWAYS protests these days, and I sometimes ignore him, because I KNOW that within 25 yards of the trailhead he’s running, noticing, stooping to scoop up Perfect Mud or Collecting Rocks, or he’s checking on the many, many landmarks on which we’ve come to depend, and via which we watch the seasons go-round. Is there water at the stepping stones yet? Has there been new graffiti on the Giant Rock? Are there ducks, off the point of the stony-island-that-sometimes-disappears?
But this day, Sunday, I didn’t try hard to convince him.
He had played his first soccer game (in the snow) and although I knew he wasn’t THAT tired, he was, a bit. And he wanted to hang out at home. And so, fine.
I went. Me, the dogs, and an hour or so.
It was snowing, HARD, when I got going.
And I noticed something.
The snow was wet-ish, BIG flakes, and I noticed clumps, in the bushes, in the trees, even in the grass. Clusters of snowflakes.
I took a closer look.
And realized what I was seeing.
In the warmth of the previous week, ambitious spiders had gotten busy.
They had hatched? Awoken? And set straight to work, spinning away, in hopes of catching the first earliest hatches of tasty flies to respond to the warm afternoons and longer days.
Would the spiders survive the snow? I had no idea.
I had never seen this exact (phenomenon? Sounds too much like I know if it IS a phenomenon!). I was just really, really struck by it. And really, really glad (again!– always) that I went for a walk.