Hidden Webs

Noticing what reveals itself when the light and timing are right.

This morning, as I sat in the woods, I caught sight of something unexpected—the spiderwebs in the bushes near my spot. The sun was hitting them just right, and suddenly, they appeared. Yards of them. The more I looked, the more I saw. They were everywhere. Every nook and cranny of the undergrowth, low bushes, tree trunks, stumps, and dead grass was laced with delicate threads.

The thing is, you wouldn’t see them unless you were in exactly the right place, at exactly the right angle, with the light streaming through just so. Then they’d catch fire, glittering like crystal. Mostly white, but shimmering with the full color spectrum as they caught the wind.

I’ve run into my fair share of webs before—on early morning trail runs, hikes, or bike rides. You’re moving along and suddenly, “Blech!”, a thread across your face like stray hair. It tickles. It's uncomfortable. You make that funny pucker face and swat it away. Anyone near you wonders if you’re experiencing muscle spasms or an encounter with a demon. Sometimes there’s a lone thread you battle with for a few steps, trying to find the end.

But this morning, what stopped me was the sheer volume of them. Are we always surrounded by this many spiders?? Some were small, tight, perfectly formed. Others looked like clumps tucked into the crook of a fallen log. Some were just long strands. Lines stretching from limb to limb, the spider’s trail left behind as it roamed through the night, searching for the ideal spot to weave its trap and catch the morning bugs rising to the warm sun.

Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse of the spiders too, resting in their silken homes. I wonder how often they have to rebuild. Do the webs wear out? Get torn by wind, rain, or a passing deer? Or a human barreling through the brush? How many of these masterpieces do we unknowingly destroy just walking through?

And still, the spiders build again. Over and over, they rebuild. Thousands of fragile highways. Crystal palaces strung through the woods.

They’re always there, woven quietly through the world around us. We just don’t notice them. Not until they hit us in the face.
Or we finally stop and look.