Interlocking webs. One, two, three...
I stared at the ceiling, feeling my throat constrict from the action. I strained my eyes to see more clearly. There!
Super thin lines, swaying serenely in the wind. I smiled.
Did cobwebs always look so beautiful?
I'd never really thought about it before. Living in a dilapidated house with an even more dilapidated life, cobwebs were always a staple.
When I lie down and look at the ceiling, they were there, like thin blankets. They would get stuck in my hair whenever I tried to clean, and I always ended up taking more baths in a day than I'd care to count.
But now that I'm looking at it after a really good sleep, I couldn't help but notice the details that these annoying cobwebs possess.
Thin lines connecting with each other to form a net, so fragile and easily broken. But still strong enough to house a life.
I placed the spider that fell onto its undone house. It didn't move for a bit, maybe because I was looking at it or maybe because it thought I would squish it, but it remained so still for a few seconds before it started to slowly continue its work.
I observed its construction with wonder.
It jumped off its web, dangling just a few inches in front of my face, and then it would climb again, whatever it did just connected to another part of the web.
The spider's working really hard. It was so small, and yet it was not stopping building its house, even if the wind would sometimes blow too hard and a few of the web's strands would break.
Did building a house always take this long? And with so much effort?
I thought a house were just walls connected together, drilled with holes for windows and doors, and then put a pretty brick roof on top of it to make it complete.
I hummed. Building a house was harder than I thought.
If a cobweb was taking this long to form, how much more those that are built for human use? Hmm...
The wind blew hard again, the cobweb losing a few strands and the spider freezing on its spot. I looked to our open window. How I would love to close it, but the glass itself was broken, and I didn't have enough money to repair it.
"Guess you'll just have to look for another spot, Mr. Spider." I whispered.
I didn't know if it would understand me, but maybe it will, and it will move to a location where the winds can't reach it. But it didn't.
When the wind stopped blowing, the spider started up again. Those few strands that were pulled by the wind were slowly getting replaced, until there was no more strand missing. Once it was done with the repairs, it went to continue its work going to the center.
"You've still got a long way to go." I spoke to it again. "Are you sure you want to build your house there?"
The wind will be coming up again soon. But even when the wind blew, the spider continued its work.
I can't help but question it. Maybe because it was an animal, or an arachnid to be exact, it didn't understand that no matter how much it rebuilds its house, it would get destroyed by the wind again.
If it were me... what would I do?
The spider rebuilt again and again, and the wind would just destroy a few strands again and again. Were spiders always this stupid?
I finally sat down to continue observing, standing was getting kind of exhausting.
The spider connected strands to strands, having already passed the middle part of its foundation strands.
It looked like a web, but this time, I'm seeing those strands that were holding everything together. If it weren't for the wind, the cobweb would have been done by now. But, sad to say, the wind will always be there.
I sighed. "You should just give up on that. Move to another spot." There are far more quieter and safer places to build a web in the house, so why choose somewhere where it would be this challenging?
I don't understand. I never really saw the merit in working hard for something I know was bound to get destroyed in the end. I never saw the reason why others would sacrifice time and strength to build on something that would get blown by the wind so easily, just like this cobweb.
But, it was beautiful to see. It was beautiful to see others working so hard, and reap their successes.
I don't want such hardship for myself, I prefer to stay in a corner and be an audience instead of performing. I like where I am enough.
But, rarely, just rarely, I would wonder how sweet those victories must taste if I worked hard.
And this moment is one of those rarities, as I watched the spider connect its final strand in the web and pause at the center. It wasn't moving. Was it dead?
I blew on it very slightly. The spider flinched. Oh, was it resting?
That would make sense, as it worked so hard for the past 30 minutes.
The wind blew hard again. My heart stopped and I panicked. It was finally done, was it going to get destroyed again?
But, to my most pleasant surprise, not a single strand from the web gave out. Even the spider was just chilling there.
The web just swayed with the wind, looking so beautiful in the morning light. It gleamed rainbow colors, and the thin strings were strong enough to hold a life.
"Wow..." I couldn't help but whisper.
The moment the last strand was placed, it became stronger. The web was completed. I couldn't help my heart from swelling with pride.
Even with the wind blowing at it so harshly, the spider never stopped. It built where it wanted its home to be, where it would stay for maybe its whole life. It settled there, looking so perfectly belonged.
I might not be one to work hard, I like just going with the flow, but watching others was never bad. In fact, when other people succeed and I was there to see it, I become thankful. Witnessing something so beautiful is a very good gift.
The spider finally moved, the web having caught a bug in its strands. It was amazing to see how such a small creature and how such a fragile web could hold so much wonder in it.
Was the spider finally happy? It did just finish building its house and now it was eating so well. And the cobweb, how long would it stay strong and hold together? I don't know, but I think it would be fun to find out.
I smiled. Did spider webs always look this beautiful?
The wind swayed it like a blanket and the morning light made it look like a dozen rainbows. I blinked.
Yes, I guess webs were always this beautiful. I can finally see it now.