A morning walk is rewarded with the sight of a web glistening in a meadow among dead cedars and yellow lance-leaved coreopsis. At dawn in the summer, the fruit of hardworking spiders garlands fields. Sunrise spills over the scene, illuminating a spectacular installation created by eight-legged artists. It’s impossible to feel alone amid the evidence of so much activity. The words of Emily Dickenson come to me, says Tusa, who often recites poetry while hiking. “A spider sewed at...
more »A morning walk is rewarded with the sight of a web glistening in a meadow among dead cedars and yellow lance-leaved coreopsis. At dawn in the summer, the fruit of hardworking spiders garlands fields. Sunrise spills over the scene, illuminating a spectacular installation created by eight-legged artists. It’s impossible to feel alone amid the evidence of so much activity. The words of Emily Dickenson come to me, says Tusa, who often recites poetry while hiking. “A spider sewed at night/Without a light …” One should tread carefully, Tusa advises, to avoid disturbing the lacework and also to prevent getting a face full of wet silk and spiders.
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