Insatiable monster, you spin your fine strands, creating your trap with abdominal glands. You then cast your nets out into the breeze that carries them off to the bushes and trees. With anticipation, you wait in the center for mosquitos or flies—whatever may enter your gossamer trap. Then, their prospects are dire, for one tremor of contact is all you require to be off in a flash to put them to bed with a cocoon of silk wrapped from bottom to head.
To the Mosquito
“I am” says the spider, as she sips out your sap, “going to have a light lunch, and then take a nap!”
The spider pulls the silk created from liquid in its body through its spinnnerets – silk-secreting organs on its abdomen. Once the thread is started, the spider lifts its spinnerets into the breeze. It’s the breeze that is the secret to the spider’s ability to spin a web from one tree to another.
I very nearly missed out on her graceful zigzag gig beneath my bougainvillea, suspended from a twig.
Behold the nimble spider, spinning out her floss determined that no insect will turn out to be her loss.
See her web’s tenacity, holding fast her prey— those delicious visitors who rarely get away.
She sucks out their elixirs with minimal delay, having guests for dinner every single day.
Spider on the ceiling, legs evenly spread round, I can’t help but wonder what keeps you ceiling-bound. Have you little suction cups welded to each foot, and if so, has nature adequately put each one on this spider far above my bed so it will not disconnect and land upon my head?
I woke up much earlier than usual today, and after I posted my poem and photos, I went back to bed. I closed my eyes for a short time, then opened them and stared fixedly at the ceiling above the bed. It was not fully light in the room, but in the diffused light from the curtains which form a sort of scrim in the room, I could see a black blotch on the ceiling right above me. Trying to figure out what it was, I scrunched my eyes up and eventually made out lines radiating out from the center. It finally occurred to me that this might be a spider. Further scrunching determined that it was, indeed, a delicate-looking spider perhaps an inch or two in diameter. It hasn’t moved in the half hour or so it has taken for me to write its laudatory poem, locate my camera, arrange for adequate lighting and camera settings, shoot its portrait and to get posted. It will probably still be there tonight. If so, its fame will probably be expanded with another poem. If I remember.