Spider Season: A Poem

Spider_small_backSpider Season

What do you do in

spider season?

Enjoy the webs,

never mind the reason(s).

No, not any spider of Frost’s.

Not dimpled, not white.

But fat, and fresh

and stuffed with rendered fright.


I couldn’t get a good angle on this spider, which I think a Neoscona crucifera female (normally nocturnal, but diurnal sometimes in the fall). Anyone with arachnid expertise, please feel free to correct me.

The one that nests there,

outside the screen:

She’s hardly nice

and fuzzily serene.

Tending to her spin,

ignoring huge voyeur eyes,

minding time’s business.

Just wound(ing) infinity, I surmise.

Can anyone tell I’ve been reading (and eyeballing) Edward Gorey’s work lately, not to mention a nifty little book from Tim Burton picked up at the thrift shop recently? Perhaps I’ll share the latter sometime soon.


7 thoughts on “Spider Season: A Poem

    • I do, too, although I’ll admit a tiny squeamishness at being surprised by spider webs. I’ve run into too many of them with my face. Same thing with snakes; I like them, think they’re cool, wouldn’t harm them unless they were truly threatening. I watched Ms. Spider’s return yesterday afternoon, too, and I’m happy to say she contributed a small scene in the short story I’m working on. I’m hoping I’ve done her natural, unpracticed magnificence a good justice in writing!

  1. I’m fine with spiders outside (except for ruining their webs with my face… that freaks me out a little) but I dislike them inside. Nice poem-and photos if your inspiration 🙂

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