Scotland is sidling into spider season. Eight legged creatures are skulking in every corner or scuttling across floors. Perhaps, if I was an arachnologist I would be more familiar with their behaviour and not be struck by this sudden upsurge in sightings. I have never, however, been enticed into their world.
Not usually known for seizing the early hours of daylight I was recently walking through woodland soon after dawn. At a turn in the path I was mesmerised by the sunlight catching dew-sparkled spiders' webs. There must have been a thousand of them. An entire arachnid city. A dozen steps on and there were none to be seen, but surely there must have been further conurbations, unlit and unobserved. At first glance every web appeared identical, but, stopping to discern each gossamer creation revealed a unique feat of suspended engineering defined in silver.
I have long harboured a grudge against sticky webs - catching your face if you are first to pass along a path; collecting dust in unreachable corners; suspending decaying flies. But that morning moment was overwhelmingly atmospheric - beauty un-capturable by camera.
I spent the rest of that day with a tribe of writers at Scotswrite. All were aspiring to weave webs of words. Do such words form funnels to entice and entrap unwary prey? Or do the webs catch droplets that reflect light, strong but delicate strands created with patience and able to inspire - Consider the Scottish tale of Robert the Bruce.
What are your words weaving in your community today?
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