Meet Big Red. She’s our big, bad jalopy of a tractor.
She’s also a bit of an obsession with many city folk visitors. Inevitably, after a few beers slide down guests’ gullets, the tractor will rattle to a start for the much-anticipated tractor rides. I’m not kidding …
And, OK, maybe I am the instigator. It could be my PA farm roots? Or maybe it’s an obscure scientific equation: booze + desert = tractor rides? But that’s not the point. (That’s just me rambling).
The point is that Big Red had fallen into a bit of disrepair due to inactivity – until this past weekend when Hubs gave her new wheels so he could remedy some storm erosion damage. If you look closely, though, you can see that, even in her slumber, Big Red was supporting quite a bit of life … which leads me to another introduction.
Meet Matilda. She’s responsible for the beautiful artwork adorning Big Red.
Once I discovered these webs, I went in search of more. And I found them. While they may be covered in dust and in need of some renovations, the webs below are still beautiful in their own way.
Many people view the web as an engineering marvel – one of the most breathtaking accomplishments in the natural world. So the next time you see a spider web and it reminds you of inactivity or dirty, unkempt surroundings, think about it differently. It’s complex, intricate and delicate. It’s a home, a true marvel.
For Writers: Spider webs mirror the writing process in so many ways. Consider the repetition – the weaving of row upon row to achieve perfection, the connections of one thread to another.
Consider the structural components of a spiral-shaped web: it starts with a line floated on the wind and anchored to another surface, then another line floated to the existing one to make a “Y.” The rest of the scaffolding then radiates out, making a complete structure.
Then consider the natural disasters to the web that make rebuilding necessary. But also realize that within that imperfect mess, new shapes and designs start to emerge. New angles reveal themselves. When you look, you realize something beautiful exists even within the wrecked, “imperfect” web.
Maybe these photos represent the stages of our writing: the careful planning, plotting and setting of the foundation; the sometimes dusty, neglected phase; the work-in-progress phase where we repair and nurture.
And maybe this last photo, by Susan Ujka Larson, whom I met on Twitter, represents the end result: a beautiful revised manuscript worth all the hard work?
How is your writing like a spider web? Do you ever feel like you have to start over – building a new web – or do you simply add on to the foundation you’ve created?