There are cobwebs all over the place lately, in the writing shed, yes, but in the house too. I was cooking dinner the other day and had to sweep aside layers of cobweb to reach the olive oil on the top shelf (and could hear Granny’s horrified intake of breath) and admitted that I really should do a deep clean of the kitchen soon. It was like Miss Havisham’s attic. I’ve always loved spiders and feel terrible about vacuuming up their homes, double checking that everyone in the eight-legged family has moved out.
A few days later, while hanging out some laundry on a rare sunny day, I heard a loud humming noise, like a generator, coming from the writing shed. It sounded like a lot (a LOT) of buzzy insects. Sure enough, when I made my way towards the open door, I thought I saw a swarm of wasps. I stepped back and then just watched them. Hundreds and hundreds of honey bees, I soon realised on closer inspection, were clambering all over the desk and chair and roof, and despite an unconscious recoil of fear, I knew instinctively that they meant no harm. They were simply lost.
Perhaps they had moved with their queen to find a new home, or maybe they had been thrown out of the hive and had to find somewhere new to live. The noise they made! It was enthralling to watch. As twilight arrived a few hours later, I looked into the shed and saw that they had indeed moved on. New homes beckoned.
Like us humans, insects and arachnids need places to live, to find somewhere to call home. I’m always glad when I leave them in peace to continue their busy days. It’s a small thing, but making time to be part of their lives and watch their fascinating behaviour has been keeping me sane.
The world is not kind right now, abuse of power is normalised while compassion seems beyond our sights. But I know that in small ways all around the globe there are people who are full of love, who find meaning in holding the hand of a loved one, who seek first the good in another person. We don’t hear about this love, but it exists.