Outside my window, a spider lived. She or he, but I think a she, stayed a long time.
She got stuck in my car’s door handle once, traveled silently to the next town, and ran all my errands with me. She did not let go. I saw her, at my last stop, as my hand swept beside her. She hovered safe in the corner. She wanted to go home, so we did.
All the places she could have dropped and moved on, but she did not.
Once home, she spun a little line and let herself down. I picked her up and turned her around, she was heading the wrong way, into the yard. I sat her near our window.
I thought she might not survive; she seemed to disappear. I kept looking.
One night, she returned. Her unique pattern of seven long legs and one short, positively identified her. I knew it was her, and her web so close to my window.
Then we had several cold and windy nights, not common for fall in Florida at all. She didn’t put up her web, and once again, I feared she was gone.
Last night, she came back, wove a strong web that shined in the starlight, content with such a warm night, just perfect for an arthropod. I left the front light on to bring her more treats, fluttering and fresh for her to devour.
Today, I checked on her, hoping to see her web neatly down, and herself curled up by the roof. Instead, she remained, dancing in the light breeze, like an acrobat attached to a swing.
I brought her down and laid her to rest. Her small body a shell, and her spirit celestial.