An orb weaver’s deal in the frame.
A picture frame jutted out of the tangled mass of hoses, mechanical parts, pieces of a leather sofa.
Within its chiseled wooden square an orbweaver dropped down toward the middle of the frame and thus started to weave its web. Dancing between the uprights hooking its next line.
Some hours later when the design took form and there was that enigmatic pattern, the mist fell.
Clouds broke.
The morning sunlight beam lit it all up.
No one saw the spider curse as autumn flies spotted the lines and avoided them.
The beautiful symmetry was obvious in the light.
It stood out like an omen, like a vertical crop circle.
And flying things avoided it, yet come dusk and with it the accumulated warmth of an early autumn day, the air around the landfill would be humming with the wings of desperate insects commuting between the unfamiliar expanse of refuse and the nearby coastal marshes.
And so it was and thus the first mosquito darted directly into the web as soon as the afternoon light dwindled. The orb weaver so sensitive with its tactile feedback and skilled with its pounce and the inevitable follow through of its horrid bite.
Before it could tie the hapless blood sucker to the overhanging bridge of the frame a flying termite came in clumsily.
The spider liked neither the after taste nor the careless flight of the creature and ate it more out of spite than enjoyment.
At least the thing was easily wrapped up and would keep longer than some insects.
A pair of mosquitos came through in their mating flight, getting wrapped up inside the strands. They didn’t seem to notice the monster bearing down on them. And before they were through they were sewn up with the other two hapless ones.
After that it was mostly moths and a few beatles, but their thick wings allowed them to make tactical escapes. The moths were the orbs least favorite. Dusty crabby wings, and a tiny body with barely any sustenance on it whatsoever.
Their flapping also bothered the Orb. He left more than one of the moths in the web, for which he swore to rebuild after the bulldozers came.
Leaving his very own trash behind, a web with the unwanted victims of the night before, still attempting to flap out of their spider web cocoons.
Yes that indeed entertained the Orb.
After he had digested the mosquitos and the silly termite, he kneel on all eight and pray the the frame stay in it’s position.
Jutting out from the debris, allowing him to spin his home, his sigil, his sacred trap and dining table once again.
