spiders

I tried to title this one arachniphobia, but am pretty sure, given the red line, that I can't spell it. But don't you just hate the end of summer, allegedly-ever-so-helpful, gigantic spiders that spin their webs across anywhere you are known to walk? I do. I did a project in the second grade, a science/art project and painted a huge garden spider. Mrs. Sherwood gave me an A. I was terrified of them then and now. In the new "Simple" magazine that I subscribe to, which does not make my life any simpler by the way, there is a girl dressed up for Halloween and covered with real-looking, fake spider tattoos. I would cut my skin off. In Safeway, there are furry black spiders all over the place for decorations. These are not decorative. Nothing about over-sized black widow spiders is appealing or food-related. I resent having to stand next to them in line. These spiders that weave their trouble all around my house are on an every-two-year cycle. Or so I hear. They get bigger the second year. I walk through my yard, the old washer woman next door, string-mop in hand, flinging and swatting, ruining the finely spun homes of my many-legged garden friends. Allegedly -- keep that word in mind. My garden is hardly pest-free. .

But the end of summer is upon us. Peaches are mush. Its over. The chill in the morning air is brief, but still, the sun has whirled itself away from us, or we from it -- I forget how all that works. We're all whirling toward the cold of winter. I miss school shopping for my son.