Etherington-Runions Lisa

Annabelle’s Adventure

I come from a species that is as old as time. No I am not a bug or insect, but a member of the Araneae family. My ancestral name is Annabelle Arachnida. My ancestors have spun their webs on the thrones of kings, in the quiet recesses of ancient tombs and libraries, on ships spanning the oceans wide, why even my great-great grandmother Charlotte once spun her web in a barn. My uncle Edward found his niche on the warm sun-filled back dash of a 59 Caddy, making its way across the arid Nevada desert. For thousands of years, all of us, big or small, have intricately spun webs as a display of our artistic talents. Each strand so carefully spun, and replicated over and over. I have two body parts and a narrow waist. With my eight legs I travel the earth, and every day is a new adventure. Recently I found a home in the door frame of a car that sits under the shade of an old Maple on Parkhill Rd. It is a pleasant spot. Today however I find myself in an awkward position. My home is suddenly moving. I scurry behind the left view mirror. There its shadows give me protection as the breeze fights my gravitational pull. I hang on in hopes that this ride will soon be over. My life can be a precarious one, with danger lurking around every corner. Not many mammals like my species, and the human kind are all too ready to annihilate me. The boy who rides in the back seat, equipped with magnifying glass enjoys his hobby of collecting bugs. I have luckily escaped his clutches more than once. He plays with bugs, studies bugs, and sometimes dissects them. “It’s all in the name of science” he explains as he chases his little sister Jane across the yard, spider in hand. The car suddenly stops. I take a peek from behind the mirror in hopes that Tommy won’t notice me. The sun is reflecting in his eyes. I am safe. I slowly creep out not making any majestic movements. The car is parked under a shady tree. The wisteria is soothing. High above me in the tree there is another spider spinning her web. We are by the ocean, and the breeze is refreshing. The children spend the day swimming, and building sand castles, and Tommy collects even more specimens for his collection. By sundown, the family loads into the car and then all is quiet. I spin a new web inside an old log, which is buried in the sand dunes. At the breaking of a new day, my web, laboriously spun under the waning crescent of the moon, glistens with dew. I wonder what adventures I will encounter today