I wonder if the spider, with the new awesome web I saw in the garden this morning, is like me when I am sewing. I’m wondering if he’s back in his special hiding place under that curled leaf, examining his web and thinking “Oh drat, look at that. I have a hitch, a bloody mistake, on that far corner. And what’s more it’s too late, I’ve gone too far. I can’t fix it now.”
And so he continues on, but he’s so painfully aware of the flaw in his existence, the misappropriated thread—an irksome thing that digs deep into his mind.
But still, what’s done is done and he must go on living with the realization he could have done better. It can’t be remedied now cause he knows full well that the much-depleted bolt of silk remaining in his pocket-pouch is only enough to shrink-wrap the sustenance he will need to survive. And that one ligature involves a thread that is too essential to structural integrity to remedy with a patch or a bit of darning. And furthermore, if he could patch it, would it then become a web of deceit?
And so he doesn’t have the luxury of starting over with lessons learned and expert application of that learning.