SPIDERLINGS

"First we molt, then spin a web, after this we weave, till our food is dead...." -Craig Froman

They squirmed . They writhed. They crawled, jostling for position as if part of Napoleon's army.

They were new.  New in spring.  Thousands of them. Perhaps millions....

Each wanting to say good morning. Each with his or her own agenda.

On this chilly spring day. On this day when no sun would shine, but only rain would fall.

They shimmied away from the nest. Pitter Pattered over one another. Finding the best spot.

Into the wind and light. They were the first. The first of their kind to exist.

They crawled up and over. Into the tall grass. Into the trees. 

Grasping at branches. Higher and higher.

Through the rain drops. Through the wind. 

There were thousands. Perhaps more. Perhaps less. Perhaps a million.

They clung to the top of the fence. It had a better vantage point.

And Spun their webs of silken threads.  Thousands upon thousands. Perhaps millions.....

Twisting , turning, flying into the wind on  parasols that they created.

The air took them farther than they've ever believed.

Took the Spiderlings far from where they were born. Thousands upon thousands. Millions upon millions....

"Sir, you have an eight legged beast crawling up your shoulder..." -Spock of Vulcan

Photographs 2023