spiderwebs

🖤🕸️🕷️🕸️🖤

We walk through the woods
Forging a path for ourselves
Breaking through spider webs
Picking off the webs
Sticking to our forearms.

.

And we think—
“we aren’t supposed to be here.

.

The spiders built those webs
Off the trails
So that they wouldn’t be broken.

.

They claimed that space—
That path—
For themselves.

.

To create their own homes and catch their prey.

.

No intention of some random teenage girl
To walk through their hours of creation
Only to rip it off her chest
And not even take the time
To see the beauty in the work she destroyed.

.

But in order to walk the trails already forged,
We must remember that
Someone once too had to break the webs—
Forge the way that many others will soon take.

🌿

The question remains—

.

Do we forge our own paths,
Risking ticks and breaking webs,
Mud on the tips of our shoes,
Scrapes on our knees—
Because we are rule breakers?

.

Or do we break the rules—
And forge our own path—
Alone—
Because they were meant to be broken?

.

Spiders have their webs broken
All the damn time.

.

From weather
To passing animals—

.

They were made
To create many webs—
They were created
To travel
And make their homes
In many places—
Not just one.

.

So when you’re forging your own path
And walk through silk webs,
Just know—
That some webs
Were made to be broken.

.

The spiders can always start again.

.

And the others that fear
The reality of the challenges nature provides
When walking off trail—
Just know—
That that is their loss—
But not yours.

.

Because by forging your own path,
Making camp in a spot you claimed—
You are not intruding on already claimed space.

.

You are claiming your space—
Setting camp along with the thousands
Of little ones below your feet.

.

Forging a path
That someone else
May take up one day as well—
Because of you.

.

And they too may see
The same beauty you see
Being there now
Before them.

.

They too may see—
The words that bubble in the ever flow of the creek,
Noticing the ways the leaves curl around each other.

.

There’s so many things to notice
And enjoy—
And yet we sit here
Thinking that we’re intruding.
That we look silly.

.

But does a child do that?
Does a child run and play in the creek—
Wondering if they’re intruding?

.

No—
Because all they worry about
Is not getting the proper fill
Of play they yearn when seeing
The slow pitter patter
Of a creek.

🌿

What if the creek flowed—
Just for children like that—
To be lapped by the soft tongue of a baby deer,
Splashed by the purposeful hops of a frog,
Felt by the curious hand of a child?

.

I wonder if—
The creek yearns
For our curiosity
As much as we
Yearn for it.

.

I wonder if the creek
Feels fulfilled—
Refreshed—
And it too smiles
Whenever we play in it.

.

Observing the beauty
Of our souls
As its own existence—
Thrumming in silence—
Light taps of love
Rippling on once still surface—

.

Lightly grazing
The tops of jagged rocks,
Holding as a roof
For a critter
In a world
That many forget
Live among with us.

.

They too—
Feeling the beating heart
Of Mother Nature
Rippling in the waves of nature—
Of life and death—
Around them.

🌿

I only hope—
That another soul
Finds my own—
Just as intriguing,
As exhilarating,
As free and exciting
As something as simple
As a singular spot of nature—

.

Where worlds upon worlds
Dwell and die
In a beautiful pattern of life—
That welcomes all
And expects nothing—

.

And yet still finds itself honored
To be in the company
Of my presence—

.

For it too
Sees the layered folds
Of beauty and art
In my soul—

.

Without harping on
The imperfections of
My physical presence
And all that comes with it.

.

Instead—
Is captured
By the ever expanding
Aspects
Of my soul—
That cry out
And take in
All that’s been given
And all that’s been taken—

.

Only in hopes to be heard
By someone
With the same pattern—
The same thrumming—
The same passion—
The same smile—

.

As someone who too
Has been touched by nature
In a way
That opens our eyes
To how small we are—
And yet
How important we are—
And everything else is.

.

Putting ourselves into perspective—
And seeing our quality
In our souls—
And not our bodies.

.

For they only give passage for the mind
To spread itself out among the world—
To tell and be told
Whatever the heart longs for.

.

To share words
And time
With other souls
That yearn
For the same things
That our own does.

.

In order that we may never live life alone—
And live and laugh and dance—
Until our time is done—
And we bless the earth
With what we’ve had the pleasure of being given—
To be recycled
And given to the next one.

.
🖤🕸️🕷️🕸️🖤

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