Perfection
Perfection
As I
sweep the sidewalk of my home, I look up,
And I see a spider.
He weaves his web beneath the eaves of my home,
Working meticulously.
Slowly, carefully, he spins his web, spiraling outward,
Setting each delicate thread in its place.
He takes his time, striving for perfection,
Knowing that perfection is achieved through hard work.
He weaves an intricate design,
With concentric shapes increasing in size.
Everything is evenly spaced and symmetrical,
As if created by God himself.
Finally, the spider is finished his work,
And he sits in the heart of it all.
He surveys his work, knowing he can rest,
Because he has achieved perfection.
I gaze for a moment at the web,
The tiny threads criss-crossing in an intricate pattern.
Then I walk forward, broom in hand, and
Whack!
I hit the web.
The
flattened
spider
falls
to
the
ground,
and
is
lost
among
the
dirt
and
the
leaves.
All
that
is
left
of
the
web
is
a
few
threads,
Waving
back and forth
in
the
b r e e z e.
Spring 1995
