As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods,
They kill us for their sport.
KING LEAR
Yesterday, as I was finishing taking pictures of a spider web, my cat, Rico, was rubbing against my legs and whining for attention. He walked in small circles, mewing. Inadvertently, he broke the lower supporting strand of the spider web with his upraised tail. “Oh no!” I cried, as I saw the spider suddenly plummet, clutching to an emergency strand, seeming to gather up as much silk as he could as he fell.
I could only hope for the best, trusting the industrious spider, free of our interference, would be able to repair the destruction we had wrought.
They kill us for their sport.
KING LEAR
Yesterday, as I was finishing taking pictures of a spider web, my cat, Rico, was rubbing against my legs and whining for attention. He walked in small circles, mewing. Inadvertently, he broke the lower supporting strand of the spider web with his upraised tail. “Oh no!” I cried, as I saw the spider suddenly plummet, clutching to an emergency strand, seeming to gather up as much silk as he could as he fell.
I could only hope for the best, trusting the industrious spider, free of our interference, would be able to repair the destruction we had wrought.
Wanton Cat God
Wanton Croquet Player Later in the evening, as Judy and I were playing croquet, I noticed the web again. Leaning over and looking closely, I could see the web was still under construction and that the spider was busy completing the last stages as I spoke. Judy was around the corner of the house, attentive to a wicket, when I called out her. This was something she had to see. “Judy! Come and see!” When to my horror, I saw that the force of my exclamation had blown the spider completely off the web.
Well, not a wanton boy exactly, but a galumphing photographer for sure.
Mea culpa.
Well, not a wanton boy exactly, but a galumphing photographer for sure.
Mea culpa.
