The morning following the cold crisp night of those days when winter starts to lose its’ tight tethered grasp upon on Earth and spring begins its slow subtle journey Northward. Those warm days and frigid nights with temperatures swinging such vast differences they seem to clutch and thrust Earth into states of peril in between.
There was a hazy fog nestled over Light Point Pond as I ventured out for the daily woods walk. Evergreen trees shadowed with an almost bluish green hue of frost tipped needles. The stream ice had frozen over, only a very slight thin glaze but as if stopped in a moment of time when the temperatures must have snapped exactly right. It was still but had a motion like appearance on its surface resting silently awaiting the mornings sun and warmth to uncast it from its frozen state.
That was when I spotted them, the “strings”, strands of fine web like threads hanging all about from the tree branches. Where were the spiders that might have spun these? Who would have stretched these fine fingers of such simple symmetry from branch to branch? Were the trees themselves shedding tears of silk or perhaps the midnight fairies of another Earth celebrated last night and left shrouds of tinsel all about the only trace left behind of their midnight escapade.
I have no answer and I seek none either. I was blessed with “strings” on this crisp cold morning between seasons and know without question they are evidence of the ties that bind, the web of life and the fabric of oneness of all things on Earth.
