A weary beginning to the day. Not a too sound night. Asleep with a low lamp on. Woken by the sound of a clickity-buzz and then a soft landing right next to my ear. I quickly sit up, look to find a cricket that managed to miss my head by millimeters. He flew into the pillow beside me and was nestled inside, right at the edge. In swift fashion, I get up to grab my glass and small book. Scoot—in he goes. I set the glass covered with the book on top on the kitchen counter until morning to release him.
I’ve grown accustomed to the sound the spider makes when he sometimes jumps down upon the chest of drawers or some other hard surface. And I’ve grown accustomed to look for him in the crevices he likes to wedge himself into and sometimes when I wake in the night, I look to make sure he’s not above me. I prefer when he’s not above me, prefer when he’s in his corner. This one in particular, is too hard to capture because he stays up high, and when he comes down the wall, he’s quick. Always, if I can, I take spiders outside. One day recently though, he or she was much too large for me to handle and I had to do what I didn’t want to do. I wrote about the experience in my notebook. I still feel traumatized by the whole thing and I suppose it is still filtering out of my system.
I much prefer the sound of a million wings flying through the sky…
