The change of season from summer to fall is in the air.
It’s August, early August at that. But the seasons don’t change overnight. They creep and seep in, flavoring earth and sky as they approach. Insects are harbingers, appearing and disappearing with the change of season.
Some signs of autumn are already here. I saw my first turned leaves — poison ivy leaves turned pink — last weekend during my trip to Lake Cherokee.
Today while edging the grass around my front walk, I disturbed two shiny black crickets, the kind that chirp so in autumn.
Autumn is spiderweb time. There’s a wide, subtle web spun across the front walk of my house that manages to span the walk, yet not break when I walk to and from the car. Just a moment ago, while taking out the recycling, I walked full-on into a different web. I had spiderweb in my hair, in my eyes, on my shirt. The frantic brushing and scrubbing at the skin to remove the web that feels so awful, wrong and foreign.
As someone who’s lived around spider-friendly landscaped yards for almost all of her life, I’ve observed something about walking into webs. The poor spider knows the very instant that the web is being destroyed and leaps to the ground before you walk all the way through (I saw this happen once when I managed to walk through a web in broad daylight.) There’s never a spider on you when you walk though a spiderweb — only web (and whatever was caught in the web).
Think about it — with the webs you’ve walked through, did you ever have a spider on you, or just web?