MCViewPoint

December daredevil

Daniel McAdams

https://open.substack.com/pub/danielmcadams/p/zelda-the-bravest-spider?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android

Tonight is the end of Zelda’s life. She is the bravest orb weaver I’ve ever known. No one sets up an elaborate web in Texas in mid-December. They are all gone by October. Along with the mosquitoes.

What was she thinking?

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But there she was, displaying her formidable beauty. A Platonic form of her existence. Perfection.

Set up from the hedge outside my office window. Proud as a sunrise. From the hedge extending up to the soffit. The cheekiness of spring. That was Zelda.

Are you insane, Zelda? This is December. Where darkness reigns. You think it is April?

I wanted to settle in and talk to her, but she was stoic and unresponsive. Only bracing herself against the wind, awaiting eagerly and perhaps desperately the misadventure of a wandering flying creature. Nature’s GPS malfunction.

It was a storefront set up in a bad neighborhood. Yes there were still a few mosquitoes, Zelda, but surely you did not think that this late in the season you would find flies and moths and even anoles.

Zelda, you gave us false hope that we could beat the seasons. That winter would not consume us.

You ebbed and flowed and surfed the light winds in an awfully confident way and I am not ashamed to admit you tricked us.

As the wind picked up I saw you desperately leave your elaborate silk castle to cling to the heat emanating from the vent in the soffit. You were defeated.

I wanted this story to be of your triumph. I set out to photograph you standing strong amidst the dark freeze and wind, confident in who you are.

Alas Zelda, you abandoned ship and sought refuge under the soffit vent. Saving yourself alone. You have already eaten your husband. As alarming as it may sound, we husbands if we are being honest find this not unfamiliar. We all seem to be eaten and disappeared.

I don’t blame you, Zelda.

Zelda it is not yet midnight and the windchill is nine degrees. You lurk under the vent in the soffit, but your days are numbered.

I will open the door to a very hard chill and look about and Zelda will be gone. As if she never came.

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