The Spider's Web (A Natural History)

Roeselien Raimond

The Spider's Web

(A Natural History)

The spider, dropping down from twig,
Unfolds a plan of her devising,
A thin premeditated rig
To use in rising.


And all that journey down through space,
In cool descent and loyal hearted,
She spins a ladder to the place
From where she started.


Thus I, gone forth as spiders do
In spider’s web a truth discerning,
Attach one silken thread to you
For my returning.



E.B. White

I’ve been reading “Charlotte’s Web” to my son, and we’ve come to that chapter where Dr. Dorian discusses with Fern’s mother whether he believes that the spider could have written the words in her web. He shrugs, “When the words appeared, everyone said they were a miracle. But nobody pointed out that the web itself was a miracle.” Gosh, I love that. Isn’t that true? It calls to mind that line by cummings “around me surges a miracle of unceasing/birth and glory and death and resurrection”. Little everyday mysteries and magic, and us wading through them, unheeding. We wonder if there’s anything to live for while beside us a dandelion pushes through a crack in the cement. We despair of taking another breath while the trees around us drink in sunshine and exhale oxygen. Miracles. Shouldn’t these lead us back to where we started from? Shouldn’t they be, as they are for the spider, useful to us for rising? 

( I’ve been away for a bit, and I’m away again soon, so leave-taking is on my mind. This poem is for Pablo, and for the invisible threads that connect us no matter where we are, because these are miraculous too.)