It probably comes as no surprise that I’m afraid of spiders. Something like thirty percent of people are, but few of us are able to pinpoint exactly why. Too many eyes, maybe. Too many legs. That skittering thing they do, or the way they run, stop, run, stop, and somehow vanish completely from your sight.

I try not to be afraid of spiders. I like to garden; I should be living in harmony with the creatures that keep more harmful pests out of my backyard. Sometimes I watch a big golden cross spider spin her web in the morning and devour it at night. We have a tenuous sort of friendship–if I know where she is, I don’t feel afraid of her, and if I’m not afraid of her, she’s not in danger.

Still–think too long about them and you’re liable to feel them crawling all over you, eight legs tickling your skin. And it’s funny that we’re all so afraid of them, isn’t it? Like something deep inside is warning us to be frightened of creatures with eight eyes and legs, with quick movements, and with fearsome, man-eating women.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.