End of something special

He is gone. My spider. The Golden Orb Spider. First the Garden Spider, gone when I returned from New York. Now the special one. The beautiful one. And I miss them both. I look outside at the remnants of an empty web and remember the amount of time I spent watching him, fascinated. And my heart breaks just a little, for that special find that I encountered. He offered me a glimpse of something foreign, something new, and I loved that he was there, gorgeous and orange, fabulous and black legged, a creature from a nightmare, but created with the details of a master craftsman.

Only to be, possibly, a meal for some passing bird or bat.

It couldn't last forever, though I hoped it would. I mourn his passing. Is that strange? To be sad at the loss of a spider? Hardly. He taught me not to forget those things that elude most people, those who are afraid, or too busy. I will remember him. Always. He was special. They both were.

Now I await the rebirth of a luna moth who transformed from a fat green catepillar into a cocoon the other Sunday and rests in a jar in my bedroom. The twelve year old in me refuses to leave.

This is a good thing.

Good night my eight-legged friends. May I find more someday. (Hopefully at a safe distance)