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The first ray of dawn light penetrates the forest to illuminate a spider web covered in dew. Note the star the spider has woven into the web at the top.
I spent some time shooting spider webs and came up with this series, many of which are significantly modified post-production.
This we know: All things are connected
like the blood that unites us.
We did not weave the web of life,
We are merely a strand in it.
Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.
-Chief Seattle
spider and web refraction.
I am on holiday in Spain at the moment but have brought a few images with me so I can keep posting through to the end of Arachtober
for Arachtober 28
Why did this tiny spider build a web with this pattern? Very small (about 1cm across) and horizontal.
The web was strung between two wheelie bins and the other bins completed the background colours. I liked the bokeh in this shot.
Walking with Wiki in the morning field today - she found this wee web, about 1.5 inches wide (38.100 cm). All of it is below. Both much nicer seen large, thanks.
For Our Daily Challenge topic - 'Ephemeral'
Don't know what creature creates these webs (a spider I presume) but they tied multiple seed heads together to form this pod.
If anyone has any idea what it is and the creature that forms them then an ID would be greatly appreciated
The filaments are outside our double-paned kitchen window, which had been cleaned inside, but not outside. At the moment that I snapped this, the wind was causing the filaments to dance wildly. I was surprised that the image actually had any defined lines.
“This World” by Mary Oliver
I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.