The Spider — Part 2: the end
Okay, so I gave it away in the title however, that will not make this story any the less tear-worthy even for those hardened, insect-fearing, something o’files. Fear not, those trillions (a lot more really) do have value, do things for us that mostly go unnoticed.
I’ve written about Matilda (yes, she had a name) posted the piece back in early May. We’d met on my first visit to the place I’d be spending the winter. She’d staked claim to a spot just outside the upstairs patio sliding door, no quick turns when going out unless sticky golden strands were something you’d enjoy having all over your sorry face, not to mention one fairly large, hairy-legged (lots of those), tattooed, mother coming straight for you with anger in every one of those bulging eyes. Being one who may have a tendency to choose the shortest path to where I am going, I created an ironclad etching of said obstacle applying memory techniques I’m always in the process of attempting to master. So, with all that, I am proud to say I never once disturbed Matilda, never once made her have to huff in disgust whilst having to painstakingly reconstruct her home.
We shared good times, you might even say we became friends. Every morning without fail, (except of course for the days I was away — I told her about it so not a problem), I’d head upstairs with a bounce in my step, turn the key, slide the door open, be greeted by a gust of cold air, or at times, rain, sunshine, all the elements yet there she remained teetering on all eight swaying in the wind. Did she wave, raise ever so slightly one arm/leg, greet me? I’d even observe her at night. Her home well lit, this was no ordinary arachnid, she knew where to get free night lighting, the benefit thereof, luring all those tiny pesky gnats only to find themselves tangled in the golden glow of sticky thread. Nonchalantly she’d make her over, do to it whatever it is they do out there in the wild(ish) outdoors, then equally casually return to her resting place patiently awaiting her next snack. Larger victims got encased in a web sac of sorts, stored for that inevitable rainy day.
Matilda’s house could have used a cleaning why with those little bags dangling all over the place. In one secluded corner she’d spun a golden web apparent home for the little ‘uns. (It’s safe to say it’s a good thing spiders are small, yes small in comparison to us, for this we should be grateful.)
In the early days she was as bloated as a discarded carcass. This was how I’d always seen her until one day Pritikin swooped in, she’d undergone a drastic change, was now half her size. I can only imagine there were tons of other little creepy guys back in there now set free to go out, make a life for themselves.
Things continued as before with this trimmed-down version of Matilda on display for any visitors that happened to be by. She never ran off to hide, this was her house, keep out unless invited. Then, one recent morning she seemed a bit down, not her usual self. I wrote it off as her just having a bad morning, it was kinda wet out. Then the next morning things were no better, I was now quite sure the end was rapidly approaching.
With a bit less bounce I went out the door, no Matilda! Yup, I’d read that they (Golden Orbs) may vacate their abode at any given time so don’t get too attached. I looked in all the usual places, no sign. Oh well, she’d obviously moved on which was fine, at least that’s what I thought except the following day I happened to look around the other side, voila, tada, I give you Matilda!!! Well, a very sad-looking Matilda, again she was half the size, half the size of her half size that is, in fact, there really was nothing there, nothing but a shriveled ball of what was once her striking abdomen.
Above I saw a newly minted orb of golden thread, everything Matilda had left she’d poured into that orb. Now her prodigy must go forth, continue the cycle. She continued to cling to her home, first with all eight tips gently sticking to those amazing threads, soon just two remained then they too gave way. Matilda, now laying on the ground, visitors have come to pay their respects, to carry her off to perform her final act as a creature of this our incredible planet. I will miss her.
