Trapped in the amber is proof that spider webs have existed for at least 100 million years. 36,500,000,000 days of spinning silk and building traps and healing wounds. Each spider should have a diploma on the wall of their office in an architectural firm. I can't even assemble a coffee maker. And if I don't have my coffee, how am I supposed to clear out my morning cobwebs?
Their silk protects their bodies. Their silk protects their eggs. Their silk serves as a signal, as a guide. I envy the threads that sustain them and lead them back home. I search for my own line, but get trapped in the blank spaces I know I am supposed to fill, but don't have the material. Sometimes I scribble in a panic just to prove an existence. Sometimes I erase to evoke a mood. Sometimes I sit out the game and let the others hit home runs.
They will use their own body for measurements while creating their web. The gaps between objects cannot be crossed by crawling. They overcome this by producing a thin adhesive thread which drifts on a breeze across the gap. They will feel the change in the vibration when the thread sticks to the far end. Reeling in and tightening this delicate line, they can walk along it and strengthen it with a second thread.
I can't convince myself to stay in a web that is not my own. I will wander around until I feel the pull of my own home. I will cross that gap when my bridge has been built. I don't need instructions for the assembly, I only need the vibrations.