It is the season of spiders, when I am enveloped in webbing wherever I go, indoors or out, blundering through elaborate creations I cannot see.
The spiders do not appear to get downhearted about this. What I destroy in the morning is often rebuilt by afternoon, waiting for me to walk into it face-first again from the other direction. When the house was full of my sons, the main routes through the house and garden were kept open by the sheer volume of traffic, even at the height of spider season. Now I feel as if I’m losing the battle – one day, I will simply be cocooned.
