Every morning, when I leave for work, I walk down my porch steps and move to open the front gate. Inevitably, there is a spider web woven across the latch, so that when I open the gate, the web is torn. I never see the spider, but I always leave the web remnants hanging, glistening with dew.
But, every day, the web is back, rebuilt, usually bigger, and still right over the opening. Seeing this spider's fortitude, its dedication to this web, I come to one conclusion.
This spider is dumb. Very, very dumb.
But, every day, the web is back, rebuilt, usually bigger, and still right over the opening. Seeing this spider's fortitude, its dedication to this web, I come to one conclusion.
This spider is dumb. Very, very dumb.
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solomantra:
Last summer a big brown spider kept building a web on my car's passenger side mirror. I would take off in the morning and the web would be blown apart in the wind. The first time, I assumed the spider was blown away, too. Then it kept reappearing, morning after morning. Eventually I figured out that the spider was retreating into a groove in the mirror every time the wind picked up. You would think the spider would have picked a less windy place to keep building its web. It even survived a ride through the car wash one time. After a couple of weeks, I grew to respect that spider...it finally disappeared, though.
theinsomniac:
Your respect for nature is heartwarming. 