A Funny Springtime Web

Today, I am overwhelmed by coincidence, and the sense that in its own weird little way, the world sometimes tries to say things--I don't know what they mean, exactly, but there they are. First I am in the basement at work smelling of dust and sweat, looking at things that seem very old, and then I am reminded of all the unlikeliness in the world, and maybe, when I come back upstairs, I look a little shocked, but it doesn't matter, because they'll just ride it off to the cramped heat downstairs and anyway, it's springtime now, and people are allowed to be a little crazy.

At home there is the biggest spider I think I have ever seen in my life tucked in one of the folds at the top of the curtains. I can't reach it, but even if I could I'm not sure what I would do. I am afraid of it and fascinated by it; I neither want to disturb it nor do I especially want the threat of it hanging over me every time I enter the room. Still, it adds a strange thrill to the mundane.

So because of the spider, instead of sinking into the couch, I go out into the garden and chase the sun down the concrete path towards the vegetable patches; in my swimsuit, I sit on a backless red chair and read my book. I read up until the point when Antonia Quirke and Jonathon Marr have finally started speaking again and am so happy I start grinning, because from the way she writes it, they're good together. People who are good together like that deserve to be together. Wait, I want to amend that: they need to be together. For not just their sake, but for everyone's.

Inside it is cool and the spider is still there and I feel light, like I know something I didn't when I woke up in morning. Is this what snooping feels like? No--this is what convergence feels like.