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I was driving to Avebury and saw this school on the side of the road. There were lots of students walking around but none of them saw these frozen spider webs. It had to be the coldest day of the season so far.
Spider webs glistening in the sunlight beside the Itchen Navigation Canal near Eastleigh in Hampshire
This busy spider was actively building its web along a wooded nature trail. I watched the spider make several circumferential trips around the web laying down silk at the rate of about 1 revolution per minute.
We walked to the bus stop in a foggy world of spiderwebs this morning, all perfectly outlined with mist. Beautiful and so interesting!
(That said, if you live in Madison and would like to be oblivious to the fact that our world is full of spiderwebs and the arachnids that produce them you may want to stay indoors this morning. The webs are *everywhere*!)
Excerpt from Daybreak:
The dark streets have been ours until we reach the main road, where we hear engines long before rare headlamps appear. I look up at the streetlamp and at first wonder if I see a tattered rag someone has thrown on the wires. Then I gasp in amazement and whisper, "Is that a web?"
A few steps further forward, we know for certain.
"It's as big as the stop sign," Mary whispers back. We spend a minute staring. The web has lost great round chunks, surviving what seems an epic battle.
Once, when I had hiked in Massachusetts' Blue Hills Reservation, I came upon a spiderweb the size of a doorway. I had knelt before it, gazing upon it and its maker with tears in my eyes.
"I've noticed that about the Blue Hills," Mary says. "They like to build their webs near the trails." ....
On our way home Mary and I stop again at the web, which I had not photographed before breakfast. It is still dark and I have no tripod; any exposure would be several seconds in length.
"You know you've got to try it," she says. I nod.
For two shots I listen to the slow whirr in my hands; then I pop up the flash. I doubt it will reach far enough to illuminate the web, but perhaps it will quicken my shutter speed.
The fog has thinned. Clouds emerge slowly in predawn light. As we walk home the sun begins to rise, brightening the sky almost urgently. The yard lamps give mixed opinions; some have turned off while others stay on. The air fills with bird song; engines rev.
At home, after the bakery shots, the thumbnails of my downloaded files show blurred strands and then a field of uninterrupted black.
Or so it seems. Viewing the field full-size reveals a hint of contrast that I sharpen and brighten in successive steps. Slowly, miraculously, the web appears.