Not until I hosed down the patio
for spring cleaning did we set up
acquaintance. I, wearing gloves,
overturned her clump of bark,
and she leaped at me, bowing her
eight black legs, refusing to run.
I dismissed the hose, squatted
beside her, and examined her
exquisite pearl of silk, swollen
with eggs, attached tenderly
by filaments of gossamer
strong as steel wire.
We conversed in silence, I
admiring, she at bay. Her
sleek ebon belly
echoed the shape if
not the size of her treasure.
Not once did she tremble.
We discussed children, the
difficulties of rearing and protection,
the rewards of courage and
chance meetings. In the end
I put the bark nest back where she
had founded it, promising never again
to lay hand, gloved or ungloved
upon it. I choose
to think she
believed me.
– Shirley Windward
