True Spinner

This is an excerpt from a 'Limora Gate' story,
based on a true, observed miracle at my home
in Reno NV about 20 years ago.

faucon
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The sun has scorching – blinding in its reflection on every leaf and pebble. Summer was near at hand – powerful, so full of life – beyond Spring. Even eight year olds hid in the shade. But it was good, for if she had not squinted she might have missed the movement – and the moment. A golden disk was held suspended in empty space – flickering in hues from rust to sand – but shinning gold for all of that. It moved – shrinking, quivering – vanishing. Imagination? Limora rushed to the spot beneath the eves of the cabin. She stopped just in time to avoid colliding with the spider web – immense, gossamer -- as perfect as Belgian lace – as simple a snowflake, expanding on – on to the ends of the earth. At its center nestled a tiny golden bead, as bright as the sun seeping through her entwined fingers – invisible but for close and chance care. Her breath caught – held. The dot pulsed – began to grow. In expanding, rhythmic waves the circle grew to several feet or more – to the edge of the web – thinning as it swelled to the limits of its world. Thousand of miniscule spiders were caught in a ritual of courageous, yearning hope. A few spiders were swept away from the edge of safely – falling! No – for each cast out a puff of white that caught the breeze – and freedom. Back – back again the army throng regrouped at the center point, choosing instead security and anonymity. Again and again the cycle pulsed, rippled – breathed in and out – each time loosing hundreds to the kiss of destiny. Finally only a couple remained – identity lost to the setting sun -- golden sun.

The child could hardly wait for morning! Now there was only one – one to remain at home – to remember. By autumn the spider grew to the giant, well-protected cat-face specimen she had watched the previous year. Grey – slow – dying. Finally it fell to the earth near a smooth, golden stone. This Limora took, and in stooping failed to notice the grayish sack centered in the web. She did not realize the significance of what she has seen – and was not believed in the telling. She had witnessed creation – not in the conception or birth of spiders, but of their claiming of a right to be – not one of many, but as individuals – alone. She had seen the breath of God.