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The Web Watcher...

I am the Web-watcher --

I wander Her strands --

empowering, or weaving,

with magical hands,

the Life-blood of the Mother

connected to All --

I am the Web-guardian,

and I answer Her Call.

________________________________________

View large with B l a c k M a g i c

 

One of the spiders in my garden was repairing her web after a storm.... it was so beautiful to watch how she used her leg to attach the strand and weave her web.

 

Textures by Florabella

 

With a big thank you to Giles for adding his wonderful poem about the garden spider to this image. His poems and writings are an inspirational read for all of us who follow the Pagan path. Giles is a gifted writer and through the use of his insightful narration, the reader is gently led along a journey of spiritual diversity.

I recommend you take the time to look at his wonderful photostream

Giles C. Watson

 

Araneus diadematus

 

Our cradle empty, we shall climb

To a high place, to catch the wind

And fly, strewing gossamer as we go,

Singly, flowing without will, to land

Wherever.

 

We shall know, by the compass

Blotched in white upon our backs,

Where to spin the spokes, and how

To spire the wheel; with one leg, feel

The trembling.

 

Approach too fast, and we shall quake,

And blur the whorl with shaking

From the underside, the compass

Pointing down, our legs the eight points

Taking.

 

At night we eat the orb, conserve

The silk, to spin again by morning,

Indelicately, cramming all

Into open mouths, every spoke

Consuming.

 

We spin the globes of nurture

After mating, span them so,

With loving claws, adore the

Minor worlds we make, compass

Turning.

 

Entwined in silk, their spinnerets

Are forming, massed bundles

Of eyes, and legs, and fangs

Entangling. Each of us

Expiring.

 

Source material: Veronica Godines, Araneus Diadematus, animaldiversity.ummz.umich.edu. Theodore H. Savory, The Spiders and Allied Orders of the British Isles, London, 1945, pp. 130-131. The common “Garden Spider” has a characteristic “cross” on its back, and is the archetypal orb-weaver. Immatures, already orphans by the time they emerge, go out to seek their fortunes by abseiling more or less at random on air-currents, attached to an anchor point by nothing but a thread of gossamer. Poem by Giles Watson, 2003.

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Uploaded on October 11, 2009
Taken on October 11, 2009