Passage West

The spider out our kitchen window, whom we've been watching since we moved here in late August, is dying. We've watched her every day assiduously build her web, kill flies and suck their blood, pick out the body parts and start all over again. It's been cold the last few days, feeling more like November to me than October and she's slowed down. Today she didn't come out to rebuild her web. When Dan got up this morning to get ready to go shoot a documentary he's been working on, I handed him some coffee and said "I've got sad news, our spider is dying." "No," he said. "I just checked on her last night." We have been waiting with a screen we've wanted to put in that window until she died--not waiting with baited breath, just unwilling to disturb her with our human need for a little more circulation in our kitchen. Now, we get the screen, but a friend is gone. A sad day.

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Some of you may notice that this blog has become...much more bloggy. I just don't have the head space while writing the book to write those long essay like pieces--I hope to come back to that soon, and, in fact have mapped out a whole concept for a new blog I want to start once the book is done.  I really believe in putting real WRITING in these things. But now, instead, I'm writing my thoughts as they come, sharing the world as it hits me. Bear with me.

Love, Caitlin.