Posts Tagged ‘Reconciliation’

There used to be a spider outside my door.  A big, scary, stripey one.  Its legs looked like candy canes.  Before I walked by, I always made sure I knew where it was.  And then I made a break for it.  It was usually enthroned in the center of its web, and I swear it was ready to pounce.  I never saw any bugs in its web – I’m sure it devoured them all by morning.

And then there was another one.  This one was bigger and uglier, gray and kind of scaley looking.  That one moved around a lot, and blended in with the paint; you never knew where it was.

I almost took down the webs a couple of times.  But no way would I try to kill them – I’d probably just make them mad and then they’d charge me.  But mostly I didn’t want to hear the crunch of their exoskeletons… and the squish.  Blech!

Then one night I came home and they were gone.  I thought I’d feel relieved and safe and be glad that I didn’t have to hold my breath when I walked by or have to work up the courage to go out my front door.  More than anything I just noticed the big hole in the balcony where the great expanse of their webs had been.  And I felt a little sad.

I hadn’t realized that I’d grown a bit used to their presence and that looking for them in the morning had become a ritual sort of greeting.  And I kind of missed them.  And I wondered, if I can accept the presence of these scary arachnids, and learn to coexist with them – if we can agree that they won’t jump on me and I won’t knock down their webs – I wonder what else might be possible.


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