I hadn’t realised that I’d been holding my breath for the last few days. What does it say about America that the world was watching the 2020 presidential elections so carefully? As I saw the congratulations flow in, I wondered if it was all a tad premature. Were I queen, I’d have waited until all the votes had been counted. But I’m not. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it is over. Globally our collective futures seem to interconnect. The world, our world, is in a very fragile state. Friends are at odds over politics, over religion, over policy. It seems like we’re all fighting, all too quick to slam each other down, to speak louder than our interlocutor so that we are sure our voice is being heard. After all, we’re right. We know best. Our opinion is what counts.

My world today was blanketed by fog. Walking through the village to mass, I could barely see in front of me. Other mass goers walking in the same direction were unrecognisable in the distance. Everything was a grey, misty haze. Everything except for the cobwebs. The cold wet air had brought them alive. So many of them. Everywhere I looked. It was amazing. I stopped to wonder at these incredible works of art, their complexity, their intricacy, their fragility.

I’m reliably informed that a spider on its game can knock out an orb web in about an hour. Some eat their old webs and recycle the digested silk to make new ones. Some work at night, others prefer the morning.  Who knew! And as for future soldiers wearing bulletproof spider silk… the mind boggles.

I only saw one at work and it was by far the most elaborate. My walk through this art gallery made my day. I was in a noticeably better mood..all day. Dare I say it, I even had a spring in my step. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so positive. Coincidence? I can’t say. Perhaps some subconscious weight has been lifted and life is starting to look a little brighter.

I’m grateful for the reminder that life is both fragile and a work of art. It is what we make it.’

To quote Emily Dickinson:

The spider as an artist
Has never been employed
Though his surpassing merit
Is freely certified.