Sometimes Fate Has a Ponytail

She must have worked long and hard on it.

Probably the span of a day or more.

It was beautiful, a fine example of her craft, worth admiring. I imagine she was exhausted and proud upon its completion.

Too bad it was gone in one careless instant.

I felt terrible, I truly did - I would have been more careful if I'd seen it there. After all, it was a work of art, a masterwork really, and more, it was her home.

Poor spider.

When she spun that web, fixing it to the tree and my utility trailer and the house, she thought she was in a prime location - plenty of insect traffic, not many birds, solid anchor points. How could she have know I'd need in the trailer? How could she have known that part of her work was strung at my head level? How could she have known that I would walk through that spot when the sun was at the wrong angle, providing no glimmer of warning?

Not until I felt that taut, stretching snap against my head, until I felt that sticky resistance, however brief, against the back trailer door, did I realize someone was living there. Dismayed, I watched the web fall, unable to stop or undo the damage. Larger across than a truck tire, it was magnificent in its scope. I didn't see the eight-legged sister going down with her vessel - perhaps she was up in the tree, relaxing on a twig, waiting for her dinner to deliver itself.

I watched it fall, and was sad...but through my mind flashed a thought - here is a lesson in impermanence. Here is proof that nothing lasts, no matter how secure one may think it, no matter how well one may safeguard against disaster - everything ends.

We can do our best and sometimes it is not enough. Sometimes the great, bumbling, ponytailed head of fate crashes into us, and all we can do is hold on until things steady, rebuild, and get on with life. Perhaps on a higher branch.