Outside my window, the skies are gray. All the recent rains have turned my yard into a jungle, and the crepe myrtle tree blooms to near its full potential.
The garden spider that took up housekeeping against my storm door bounces in fury at my approach, while his cousins hang casually in finely crafted webs nearby.
Blackberry vines cover the mound in thorny glory, their rich black fruit come and gone until another season, as the wild blueberry just begins to ripen, and the muscadine promises a bounty yet to come.
It’s the end of July, and August looms just around the corner. The drenched summer is flying by as quickly as the bee that buzzes past my window.
Soon the greenery will give way to red and gold leaves, and the banks will be filled with bright yellow fall flowers. An evening chill will replace the humid air, and the garden spiders will fade away into the sunset.
Thoughts, Moment by Moment 
. . .and I shall rejoice. No, I won’t. It’s just that I cringe when I think of spiders. Or when I see a spider. See the word ‘spider.’ It’s a visceral response, I can’t seem to help myself.
And yet, I find beauty in the way spiders move. In the delicate plucking of web strands. I admire their patience; their predatory nature, so unforgiving. Merciless.
She’ll fade away? Or is her fate to lay her eggs and die? Or will she slip into some crevice to ride out the cold winter winds? Hopefully not in some dark corner of my house. . .
LOL I’ve had a few spiders in the dark corners of my house. 😉 Yes, the garden spiders will lay their eggs and then die when the winter chill arrives, then next summer I’ll have a new generation of the eight legged visitors. 🙂