Grasslands

The Black Widow’s Journey

Off we went mid-afternoon, Black Widow and I.

Both of us wanted to live in the same house. After being bitten by a black widow a month ago, I thought, no, maybe not. A long walk it was.

One of us willingly.

Ah, our goal. The deer trail to the bluff.

And our goal: the rockfall.

Let’s face it. A pretty nice place to live. Handsome and well-appointed, too.

Note the sort-of-triangular space below and just to the left of the jar. It seemed to lead into the deep heart of the fall.

It has been a fall of black widows. I’ve encountered well over a dozen. This was the biggest. A full 5 cm in diameter, easy. Time for something better than my summer kitchen, I say. So, I unscrewed the cap and turned the jar upside down. She had glued herself on with a web, because the wind was tossing her jar-in-a-bag around something foolish, but with a little shaking, she lowered herself down on a thread to the mouth of the jar, looked around, approved, and dropped down and instantly disappeared into the darkness.

Under the stone to the left of the centre of the image. Obviously, a great choice. Man, I left with a skip in my step. Fare well, my dear. ( I got back to my summer kitchen and a male was looking for her. Hmmmm.) Here’s her new home in its full light:

Necessary darkness is where you find it. Blessed be.

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