There is a trueness, a calm, a thrill of reality about many of the sights that nature reveals, if only we open our eyes and minds wide enough to appreciate them.
Such was an occasion I had recently, early one very still, dew-covered morning when I was doing deliveries on foot. I came across something which has been eulogised by many writers – a spider's web.
There it was, about half a metre across, strung at the height of my head, between a letter box and an adjacent small pine tree.
My eye was drawn to it by the glittering backlit drops of morning dew hanging from the multitude of strands, perfectly still in the windless morning – a glittering array of bright jewels strung together on gossamer.
And there, at its centre, was the owner, a gentle brownish spider a few centimeters across, calmly doing the final arrangements of his hub. He was attentive, yet patient, as he went about his job of completing his harvest-gathering network.
He looked me at - I looked at him, quietly said "Hullo, Spider', then waited and watched as he sat there, quietly weaving his final strands.
No urgency – no rushing – no impatience – no distractions from what he was doing as a result of his millennia-old instinct.
Nature in action.
Then I recalled the totally opposite unnatural events I had seen on TV news the previous night.
Mustachioed malcontents knuckling their way across the parliament floor of a country which claims to be civilised.
Vicious peace-seekers belting each other with metal bars and lumps of wood while trying to overthrow their government.
People desperate for refuge from cruelty and even death in their countries of origin, beaten brutally within their now prison island paradise.
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