It's been a super-spidery late summer here in Seattle this year. We normally think of the advent of giant spiders as consistent with the advent of cooler, wetter weather. At least giant, hairy-legged spiders in the house. Perhaps the fact that it's been so sunny has distracted us from the migration this year, because we see it as a temperature thing rather than merely a date thing. Perhaps it's only that the spiders are warm enough and dry enough outside. There are certainly a lot of there there outside, tirelessly restringing their guy wires and reweaving their nets. I cannot walk outside without gossamer threads and tiny explorers tickling my face and sending instinctive streams of icy water down my spine. Like anything that doesn't kill you, however, familiarity breeds boredom, and I've found myself becoming almost blasé about the ongoing invasion.
I had to remind myself, sharply, of that boredom with spiders when, several days ago, I came upon a fine, large specimen who had caught a fine, large dinner (somewhat representative of Frodo and Shelob), and was enjoying it across the gate leading out of the yard on the north side of our house. I was clearing the bags of dirty old compost, rotten fir needles, and trash out of One Tree Woods in the back yard (a job is not complete until the work space is cleaned up, right folks?), and was on a mission.
I aborted, or rather, diverted my mission for a bit, and went for my camera instead.