Out with the big dog. Early morning mid-August Summer Sun clear and warm, and deep cool, damp shade under the oaks. Warm in the sun …
Across the yard, for some reason now long forgotten, I walk toward the azalea beside the garage. Irrespective of my initial destination, as I near the azalea I see a flash, apparently suspended in mid-air near the very leaf-end of a branch, razor-thin, iridescent and multicolor and shining brightly,
… and I stop.
… and loooooook … wow … a web … no, a single strand of silk … shining in the nine o’clock sun, a single strand of silk stretching away and up from the fringe of the azalea leaves.
First I just followed it a little way away from its end. The sun hits the silk in such a way that it reaches my eyes at slightly different angles and the result is … I see two razor-thin iridescently multicolor bolts of light before my eyes, and I follow those … at first just amazed at the perfection of the silk and the fact that there was no noticeable “sag” in this line traversing this opening.
I walked away briefly, yakkin’ at the dog and lookin’ around.
… and that sight called me back over there and I looked … to find at least four solid anchor lines on the azalea, arranged three at about the same level and one from underneath from a different leaf. Four strands joined seamlessly to form one, single, gleaming strand of silk stretching tautly across open space to reach,
… the lower leaves of a great Duncan grapefruit tree that volunteered just the right distance from the back fence about ten years ago,
… those leaves nearly twelve feet distant and a full foot and a half above the four point anchor on the azalea. One single silk thread blended from four anchors spanned nearly twelve feet while climbing over a foot and a half. The anchor on the Duncan is only a couple of strands and what looks like a fuzzy lump of glue.
I’m sure the neighbors were amused. The best angle for continuing to follow the glimmer of the sun along that silken strand called for distance not much exceeding a foot from it and, owing to its rise across the space, constant … postural adjustment? … is required.
… and we are treated to the sight of a(n “Older”) guy, barefoot, in brown plaid flannel PJ bottoms and a Will McLean T-shirt, hands on his knees, craning his neck downward while stalking back and forth sideways, bobbing up and down and adjusting his head position like a heron zeroing in on a shiner.
Then coming back and doing it again … for longer …
Why would anyone live anywhere else?
Y’all have a good day, ‘K?