Small Corner Kingdom
At dusk, the light touches the awning, and even spider webs look exalted. Bathed in gold, the small corners are kingdoms too, resplendent, glorious. Birds are conversing on this particular evening. One makes a short statement. Another answers. A third debates the point. A fourth asks a clarifying question. It’s a very casual, unhurried dialogue. Shadows cast by the setting sun make a lacy fringe around the small corner kingdom.
I limit my view to just this tiniest ordinarily unobserved slice. I deny my eyes the shift in focus onto the street, house, and trees beyond. The house across the street usually garners my enthusiasm at this time of day with its glowing face. Often, the curvaceous tree in the yard sways, rustles, casts shadows- a busy performer. Too easy, I think. Tonight, I want this ruined arachnid ghetto. I want the sharp line of the beam, the right angle of the window frame, the gold patch of light, the shadow fringe.
In this way, it is just the light. It has always been just the light entertaining my eyes, but now, this is obvious. I cannot think that there is some beauty inherent in my neighbor’s house, lawn, or tree. With my eyes trained on this segment of a wooden beam, threads of spider silk glistening, I know it is the light. Or do I? For now that I have become so focused, the forgotten spinnings of a spider and this rough brown wooden support are so beautiful to me, so worthy of affection, it feels close to obsession. Could I ever love anything more than this small corner kingdom?
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