Morning of the orange spiders

It is late in the season of the orange spiders, but still we can see one when we go out in the morning. The other day I walked directly into a web. "Bejabbers!" I cried, and flailed myself about the head for possible arachnids. It would have made a competitive YouTube.

Last week, one had set himself up between me on the glider and the view to the south. In fact one of his anchors was the hummingbird feeder. Presently a hummingbird arrived and, hovering, viewed the spider.

I suppose the spider viewed the hummingbird, which advanced a couple of inches closer. The spider's web suddenly vibrated vigorously, as if he had gathered it like a skirt and shaken it. I was engrossed. Had I viewed a spider's defense mechanism?

Or it might have been the hummingbird. If you have ever been buzzed by a hummingbird, you know they make quite a noise and create quite a wake. It could have been the wash off the hummingbird's wings, which was buffeting the web. I couldn't say. So many simple questions about nature present themselves to me, which I have no answer for.

This morning, Dixie and I were out early, more than first light in the east but still darkish on the glider. I sat down and took first sips of hot coffee and Dixie went to see what she could see. That's another question: who took the first sip of hot coffee at dawn, creating such an enduring age of tranquility? Had to be somebody.

I sat there for several minutes, witnessing dawn events, and then I looked to my right, toward the ocean. A foot from my head was a nickel-sized spider, hanging there patiently. A foot was far enough. I let him hang. One thing I am learning in retirement age is that life of all forms, in all situations, has taken on a new stature.

But then came a bit of ocean breeze, blowing the spider nearer to my ear, and certainly inside my boundaries of respect for spider life and situations. Nearby was one of the sticks that Karen posts around the grounds to knock down orange-spider webs. I passed the stick below the spider and he disappeared.

I sat back down and sipped coffee. A couple of minutes later I looked to the right, and there he was. He looked bigger. A movie plot dashed through my mind. I said to him: "I thought I sent you packing." I got the stick again and waved it through a wider arc beneath him, severing unseen anchors. He scrambled up to an eave over the window and didn't bother me again, though I kept an eye on him, thinking I weighed 200 and he weighed .002, but what little difference that made.

I must watch for him tomorrow. Speaking of seasons, we did not have an acorn fever season this year, a first brief snap of cool weather to gull us into thinking it was fall. Day by day at our house, we have formed the conviction that the 2 p.m. temperature is not going to fall below 80 until Thanksgiving Day, if then.