It was a small nervous spider dependent on his web worried about the sound emanating from the braches overhead. They were too loud to be insects, to be food, but they grew louder hence were coming closer. He feared for his web, his days work, coming to ruin. As had happened yesterday, and the day before. Both times, the previous times, the ruin had come silently. He had no warning when the object whatever it was sliced across the center of the web, collapsing it into itself taking his home and store of food with it. When was that? Yesterday, or the day before. Both times it had happened, both without warning. But the details of the one other time he could not recall. Just that it had happened. He knew it had happened because he saw the traces, the ruins, the remains of the previous web dangling from the tree just below him.
But this new sound. This new threat. Was it a threat? Can a spider hear? If a spider cannot hear, then what is the sound? A threat. What will happen?
And now there is silence. Now it is quiet again. Was it the wind? If the wind wouldn’t his web have moved as well? If the wind? Can the wind blow in layers? Or is there something nearby unseen that blocks the wind that shields the web from the wind. That would not be a good thing either, because wasn’t it the wind that brought food to him? That brought insects to him. Wasn’t it the wind? And if it were true that it was the wind that did these things, that brought food to him, then how did he know this? How can a spider come to know these things. He is a spider. How could he come to know? And more to the point how could a spider come to reason and then to worry? To stress, to have stress?
Why should he have stress? If the web fails, he will build another. Quickly. It has never been a problem before. He has never wanted for food, even once, ever before. There is no reason to worry for food, nor for his web. He had built it well and the wind had stopped. He had built it well and the sound had stopped. If it was the wind. If it wasn’t for example a creature. A creature that had stopped. A creature that intended to continue, whose sole purpose was to collapse the web. It could be. But what did this concern him? Why did he worry? Why did he worry about things irrespective of their likelihood of happening? Why did he worry about things that had quick, easy, straightforward solutions? He did that a great deal. He could not control himself. Look at me trembling. Why can’t I get this under control? I am spider, for God’s sake. A spider. A spider is not supposed to worry. A spider, an insect. And a spider as an insect is not supposed to have a worry in the world. Look at us. We have been around, in roughly the same form, for millions of years. We are close to invincible. Most of us die of old age. Very few die unnatural deaths no matter what the catastrophe. The day after a conflagration, who is it you see first? Us. Building webs between the charred remnants of trees ready to capture what is blown across the now desolate landscape that a day before had been a lush forest or thriving neighborhood. And even in his own case. Look below: The collapsed webs. What was here before. Here, nearly. Barely recalled. If he could not remember the one then really how bad could it have been and so what was the point of worrying about it now. That is something he needs to work on. There is the sound again. With all the time spent idling in the web it was easy to let his imagination get away from him and permit imagined fears to take over. If a spider has imagination. Does a spider have imagination? He is a spider. There are other, better things to do with his time. He could for example just try to relax. Think positive thoughts. Or at least not go on and on about things that might happen to him, things over which he had no control. That is what he could do. He is a spider. That is what I spider should do. That is what a spider does.