At last I am finished, now that was a tough job spinning all those threads, hanging in the air. Do they clap, do they praise me, is everyone happy. An unthankful bunch those humans. You would think they would appreciate the craftsmanship, the aesthetic reflection of the sun’s rays on my pièce de resistence. No, they do not. They just shriek and scream, running in all directions: “A spider! Get him”, looking for something to knock me off my balance. I have enough trouble with the rain and wind destroying my silky threads. Just a few drops of rain and I have to do repair work in my
There I sit, having a munch on a flying object that happened to turn in the wrong direction in the right place for me and now nicely spun in a lunch parcel, preserved for dinner for one and I have to suffer from such disturbances, enough to give me indigestion.
There is one human that seems to know what she is doing. I always give her a nice spider grin when she gets ready with the camera. She does not always have an easy job. These super DSLR cameras register every quiver and shake. A web is a delicate piece of work. We spiders are the Picassos of the insect world. Unfortunately our artistic vein is not recognised by all, but that is a spider’s life.
So thank you Mrs. Human for the photo. That was a difficult job, balancing on the sun bed to catch me at a right angle. Mrs. Human even spruced me up a bit in her photo programme, chopping out all the unnecessary diversions surrounding my web. She knows what is important in a spider’s life. I am famous. Thousands of people all over the world, at least the blogging world, have seen me. I might be the star of one of those nice nature films and win an Oscar. The first spider in the world with an Oscar, you all know where the idea of the Spiderman film originated, and no it was not Walt Disney.
And there she sits, Mrs. Human, giving me an appreciative glance now and again, under the spider’s web. I gave her a wave with four of my legs just to show what a lovable type I am.