This morning where beam meets post on the porch

the barn spider has spun his concentric polygons,

a trap wired with a warning system I test with my finger.

It works. The spider scrambles from his den in anticipation of

a feast of fly, this orb weaver with the bright yellow rune no one

can decipher. Woodpeckers begin appearing this time of year,

busy drilling as leaves drop from trees undressing in the

soft yellow glare of the low afternoon sun. Soon the hummingbirds

will begin the journey south to Mexico, pollinating their way

across the Sonoran Desert. Already v’s of geese are appearing beneath

the curdling clouds. Some of the garden birds will follow,

though many will winter over in pines and evergreen shrubs.

Change vibrates continuously along the strands of this web of existence;

still there is a moment when realization takes hold, clears the fog

in our eyes, shakes us from the stupor of the day to day,

and we become aware of our dependence upon this vast, intricate fabric.

I watch the barn spider and think how alike we are in our ways –

waiting, anticipating on the threads so necessary to our livelihood.

And so we are connected in this web to all our kin, alive to the

chemical messages, in their cryptic bonds, that have passed in whispers

through the bloodstream – the wheel has turned, it is time.