Back to work.
Back to the trails.
After nearly a week of minimum runs on the minimum course, it felt great... really great, to have new ground under my feet.
It wasn't long before I ran into, or through, I guess, a spider web. It wasn't really a whole web. Just a thread.
I probably ran through a half-dozen, that I noticed. Happens all the time. You don't see them. You feel them.
And if you're lucky, sometimes you hear them. You hear them break. It's the faintest little "twang".
Running through these freak some people out. My kids would lose their sh*t if they did, sure that some huge venomous spider was crawling down their neck, seeking revenge.
To me, they are first, a part of the run. I have chosen the trail. The trail is in the woods. The woods is home to spiders and things that spiders like to eat. So the trail will have spider webs.
Sometimes I run through them, and move on.
Other times, like today, the web comes at a time when my mind is open, and it fills that space for a few moments.
I think about the spider who started early in the morning, and somehow managed to get her web from one tree to another 8 or 10 feet away. And I appreciate her diligence and skill that is instinct that have evolved over time.
I wonder how she can catch food with just a thread. I wonder if having a leaf caught on the thread helps, or hurts her hunting.
Hard to see, but there's a leaf hanging in mid-air.
I think about that twang sound, and how it tells you how strong that invisible thread was. And I'm impressed with how such a strong thread can be excreted from an insect.
And I think about how often her web is broken, by me, a deer, a bird, an instinct that's too big. I wonder how long it will take her to replace it.
And I'm reminded that nothing is permanent. That life is simple, and complex, and abundant, and precious, everywhere, and tenuous... just like that spider's thread.