Yesterday, we experienced sunshine and temperatures reaching into the forties. In other words: summer. Seeing my front porch aglow with sunshine, I stepped outside and sat on the concrete steps. Though, all around me, snow remained on the ground in Dalmatian patches; the sun quickly warmed me.
We are still in full winter around here.
I had not been sitting there for more than a couple minutes before a dark motion caught my attention. Glancing in that direction, I saw a spider on the brick veneer beside me. A large, hairy number, the spider legged up the side of the house and then clung there amid a patch of sunlight only an arm’s reach away.
“Hey, buddy,” I said to him, “If you are looking for lunch, I saw a fly of some kind twirling around on the deck out back when it got warm the other day.” I scowled at him, “If you don’t get any closer, we can hang out together here. Just keep your distance.”
I don’t like spiders much, but the sun had already filled me with warmth and serenity. So we sat there together—me and a really ugly spider. Ten minutes of summer brings out the soft in all of us.