The night-time drone of the cicadas have replaced the morning wake-up calls of the songbirds. The droning becomes a part of me, a part of everything, as it fills the heavy, humid air in my car as I drive back from a run in the woods, my skin drenched with sweat and salt and Ohio August air. As I drive up the road to my house, the droning pulsates through my open windows and reminds me how lucky I am that my car’s AC is on the edge of its 11-year old life, allowing me to experience the smells and sounds along my travels.
A very large spider has made a large web just outside my front door that glimmers in my front door light as I walk up the steps. I’m sure that close-up it’s colors and features are magnificant, but my every cell in my body repels me from getting too close. I call my friend Rick, who loves spiders, to come rescue it, to come rescue me, before I get really crazy and do something horrible like smash it, giving into my innate aversion to anything with 8 legs. He only lives 2 minutes away, but by the time he pulls into my driveway, whatever equates to a spider’s sixth sense tells it to leave the center of its web and climb to the heighth of the peak over my front door. The transport will have to wait for another evening.