She was here last year (or perhaps it was her mother?). It was also the same window outside of which she resided--the window outside my nursing couch. (Quite hideous, my nursing couch, but useful, and comfortable in our art room, easily hiding marker, crayon, or whatever other art may be going on and it it has billowing stuffing that supports the head of a nursing child and fits the length of my body with my knees bent at a perfectly comfortable angle--but this post is not about my nursing couch.) When Clover was not yet sleeping through the night, I would get up, nurse, and think about the spider just outside the window, there, always, keeping me company. One day her intricate web was disrupted by a meal. Another day it was a hurricane. Yet another, a naughty child (to which nobody has confessed.) Each time, she would quickly and quietly go around and around, sometimes one strand closer than the previous, others, perfectly placed. She would finish only after adding her creative flair right down the middle and returning to the center to watch guard.
Preparing (but mostly ahem AZURE! eating) a meal, doing homework (way too much of this), playing a game, doing a project, playing dress-ups (over and over), dancing around the house, bath time with all the clothes coming off and going on and the wet towels--All of these disturb my web. Life inevitably, invariably, unavoidably disturbs our webs, doesn't it? So, to me: Be more like your wise spider. Repair your web as quietly and quickly as you are able (forgetting not your creative flair) and return to your place in the center, that is what your web is for, after all.