I’ve been going mano-a-ocho-manos all summer with a yellow garden spider who claimed one of my flower boxes as his own.
Every afternoon, I clear that sticky goo, and all the things it traps, off my poor pink impatiens, and every evening that tenacious tentacled tyrant rolls his eight beady eyes at me and shoot its woolly silk out again. At this point, we’re greeting each other as we pass each day and giving little nods of mutual respect.
It’s maddening, really, because there’s a whole park across the street with plenty of room for an enterprising arachnid. But, no, there he is tucked away each day bothering the only flowers kind enough to grow for me and making a mockery of my love lights.
He’s not alone either. Not by a long shot.
In fact, I’ve noticed a tremendous amount of spiders around town this year, and now that I’ve mentioned it, so will you. They are everywhere, hanging off railings, swinging from trees, building their castles in the high corners of your bedroom.
It’s been a banner year for them and I’m not sure why.
I do have a theory though.
I think it’s an insect conspiracy. I think they all — spiders, monarchs and even the lowly mosquitoes — have been watching what’s going on around here and they’ve come up with a plan. They’re working on cocooning us so we’ll all be stuck in a giant human chrysalis together and we won’t be able to emerge until we can all get along.
And then we’ll be the coolest butterflies in the land.
Either that or 2020 is also throwing some freakishly prolific spiders at us and that’s not cool at all.