little floating spiders

A warm winter day, and I sit on the porch admiring the sky. The smallest of spiders dangles down from the rafters, and the breeze lifts him up and swings him back. Spider season is coming. This is when every walk through the woods involves the first-in-line waving a stick or such to clear the way from the sticky fibers that transverse every pathway. This is when power lines are decorated in glittering webs in consistent distribution between the wires along the roadway. I've always been impressed with the skill and tenacity of the spiders. And confused. I could not figure out how they anchored their webs on both sides, considering they are so small. So small.

I was thinking they had plans and were in control of their web building. I couldn't be more wrong.

As the tiny spider dangles before me, I watch the wind swing him upwards and can see the multiple possibilities of where his second anchor might eventually be. It occurs to me it doesn't matter to him;  his calling is to build a web. And rebuild it when it is destroyed. But he anchors one end, and then lets the wind take him where it will, always ready to anchor the second end and begin work. 

How many times does the spider attempt the second anchor, so he can begin building? How long does it take?  Some spiders must hit the jackpot right away, while others must wait and wait and wait, for what could seem like an eternity. They could get very hungry.  I'm thinking each spider must have it's own story, so to speak. But most impressive is their ability to anchor on one side and swing in the breeze for the rest. This is trust. This is faith. 

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