I can still vividly recall the first spider web I watched being spun in earnest, in the unlikely setting of an industrial estate in Central London. While taking a break from a tedious data-entry job, I stepped outside onto a fire escape to find a dun-brown spider dangling at eye level from the wrought iron. Ordinarily I would have swatted it away with a wave of the arm. But something about this creature persuaded me to stop and observe as she traversed back and forth between stair and balustrade, constructing an elaborate death trap. From frame to completion, the spider’s labor took about an hour, and I scrutinized the whole thing, entranced — which might help explain why I was sacked later that week.
Now, on long summer days, if I find myself with a few spare minutes, I go into my scrap of South London garden to scour the borders and branches for telltale strands of spider silk. And, if luck brings me into contact with a spider at work, I pull up a chair and watch. If you’re one of the many people who fear spiders, I appreciate that this may sound like an inexplicable choice of hobby. Perhaps you’d prefer to imagine that spiders don’t exist, or at least that they never cross your path. But they do. And it’s actually the same alien qualities that compel many of us to abhor spiders that lend web-building its mesmerizing quality.
Examining a web up close, you cannot help marveling at the ethereal quality of the silk, a substance of such incredible tensile strength and elasticity that humans have spent more than 50 years trying to synthesize its properties. You wonder too at the genius of the radial lines, a scaffolding more intricate than the most advanced suspension bridge. But most of all, you watch the legs, the rear ones tugging silk from the spinnerets on the abdomen, others delicately gauging the distance between the anchor points. The extraordinary eight-legged motion — so creepy when you see it on your bedroom wall — becomes a thing of wonder when you look harder.
For the time it takes to build a web, the legs tug, sever, glue and measure, unless the builder senses a serious disturbance, in which case it will rappel to safety, legs akimbo in kung-fu readiness. Some naturalists speculate that spiders, like the octopus, have limbs that operate with a degree of autonomy. Indeed, they work with such piston-like coordination that it is hard to conceive of one poppy-seed-size brain controlling them all.
The most virtuosic example of spider architecture is the orb, built by the family Araneidae, whose species are common all over the world. Unlike cobweb spiders, which tend to construct their tangled traps in ceiling crevices, an orb-weaver’s handiwork appears in more conspicuous places, often along garden borders, where prey is abundant. The best time to catch spiders establishing their foundations is at dawn or dusk, from late summer through early fall, when they send out gossamer strands, which, deployed onto a breeze, enable them to parasail across chasms in search of a hunter’s vantage. If you spot these threads, the web-building process will not be far behind.
My favorite time to seek out webs is in the early hours, when spider silk is at its most splendid, often glistening with dew. On busy days, my web-watching might comprise little more than a brief reconnaissance of my garden before I start work: here a web dotted in fresh prey, its owner happily sated by its breakfast of liquefied aphid innards; there one damaged by some nocturnal disturbance, its owner half-concealed on a stem of honeysuckle, already busy planning a replacement. By mentally mapping the shifts in the local webscape over each 24-hour cycle, I’ve found that the spiders’ relentless industry provides a shot of inspiration for the day ahead.
We are increasingly advised, by writers and wellness gurus, to seek sanctuary from our hyperdigitized lives in nature. For years, working as a travel writer, an inconsistent line of work that served as shallow cover for a flâneurial pursuit of spectacular things, I took this imperative to extremes. If my feet itched for experiential refreshment, my first recourse would be to switch off my phone and flee the city to go somewhere with hills, forest, beasts — the wilder the better. It is a source of no small rapture, then, with a young family requiring a more sedentary life, to discover a surrogate for this impulse in something so ignored and ubiquitous, often within a few feet of my door.
So much of the meditative and aesthetic communion we seek in nature finds expression in these miniature coliseums. In design, their gratuitous beauty humbles us into reflections on the divine; in cruelty of purpose, they are a memento mori, a symbol of ineluctable fate embodied in the futile wriggling of an ensnared fly. Perhaps a web’s most poignant allegory, however, lies in the disdain with which we tend to treat them — the appreciation that most of us, whether through overfamiliarity or revulsion, think nothing of obliterating that which required such balletic artistry to build. In this way, spider webs betray the tragedy of our indifference when we are too busy to see.B:
香港期期中必中生肖【多】【里】【亚】【行】【省】【中】【的】【诸】【多】【事】【物】，【近】【两】【年】【里】【威】【尔】【已】【经】【逐】【渐】【放】【权】【给】【家】【族】【中】【的】【人】【了】。 “【虽】【然】【都】【是】【很】【重】【要】【的】【事】【情】。” “【现】【在】【交】【给】【他】【们】【可】【能】【还】【太】【早】【了】。” “【已】【经】【出】【过】【不】【少】【差】【错】【了】。” “【但】【是】——” “【绝】【对】【不】【能】【忘】【记】【我】【为】【什】【么】【能】【拥】【有】【如】【今】【的】【地】【位】，【为】【什】【么】【能】【带】【领】【家】【族】【崛】【起】，【为】【什】【么】【能】【让】【加】【力】【伯】【爵】【家】【族】【臣】【服】。” 【有】
【周】【鸣】【唤】【醒】【雪】【柔】，【继】【续】【踏】【上】【三】【十】【年】【前】【的】【旅】【程】。 【对】【于】【雪】【柔】【而】【言】，【三】【十】【年】【过】【去】，【仿】【佛】【就】【像】【是】【一】【夜】【之】【间】，【睡】【了】【一】【觉】【而】【已】。 【她】【的】【身】【体】，【并】【不】【受】【冰】【魄】【炼】【阳】【大】【阵】【的】【影】【响】，【整】【个】【人】【更】【没】【有】【受】【到】【什】【么】【伤】【害】。 【周】【鸣】【现】【在】【已】【经】【感】【觉】【出】【来】，【她】【的】【身】【体】【与】【古】【荒】【冰】【魄】【有】【着】【莫】【大】【渊】【源】，【乃】【至】【于】【她】【可】【以】【免】【疫】【冰】【魄】【炼】【阳】【大】【阵】【的】【威】【力】。 “【已】【经】【过】
【就】【在】【快】【要】【发】【箭】【的】【一】【瞬】【间】，【东】【方】【朔】【忽】【然】【收】【起】【了】【弓】【箭】【说】【道】：“【我】【还】【是】【蒙】【上】【眼】【睛】【在】【玩】【吧】！” “【哦】？【你】【喜】【欢】【蒙】【着】【眼】【睛】【玩】？”【凌】【昊】【有】【些】【好】【奇】【的】【问】【道】。 【东】【方】【朔】【做】【作】【的】【学】【着】【某】【电】【影】【中】【星】【爷】【的】【经】【典】【台】【词】【说】【道】：“【不】【是】，【我】【怕】【看】【到】【鲜】【血】【四】【溅】【的】【场】【景】！” “【喂】！【你】【这】【是】【耍】【赖】，【这】【一】【句】【我】【认】【输】【总】【行】【了】【吧】？” “【不】【行】，【万】【一】【我】【失】【败】
【喀】【斯】【特】【地】【貌】【的】【山】【岭】【环】【绕】，【绿】【水】【长】【流】，【青】【砖】【灰】【瓦】，【古】【树】【婆】【娑】……【走】【进】【阳】【春】【市】【春】【湾】【镇】【自】【由】【村】【高】【村】【自】【然】【村】，【乡】【土】【田】【园】【风】【光】【如】【画】【展】【开】。【在】【省】【定】【贫】【困】【村】【建】【设】【新】【农】【村】【示】【范】【村】【过】【程】【中】，【高】【村】【自】【然】【村】【不】【单】【修】【筑】【了】【硬】【底】【化】【村】【道】、【文】【化】【广】【场】、【健】【身】【设】【施】、【污】【水】【网】【管】、【音】【乐】【公】【园】【等】【现】【代】【设】【施】，【村】【容】【村】【貌】【焕】【然】【一】【新】，【还】【保】【留】【了】【村】【中】【原】【有】【的】【乡】【土】【特】【色】【元】【素】，【并】【计】【划】【整】【合】【开】【发】【老】【屋】、【古】【树】【林】、【乡】【村】【美】【食】【这】【些】【资】【源】【打】【造】【乡】【村】【旅】【游】。香港期期中必中生肖【经】【过】【交】【谈】【双】【方】【知】【道】【的】【信】【息】【都】【得】【到】【了】【很】【大】【程】【度】【的】【完】【善】。 “【各】【位】【事】【情】【的】【原】【委】【相】【信】【大】【家】【已】【经】【清】【楚】【了】，【不】【过】【还】【有】【一】【件】【事】【需】【要】【询】【问】【各】【位】【一】【下】。” 【星】【辰】【之】【前】【完】【全】【有】【机】【会】【可】【以】【杀】【掉】【他】【们】，【之】【所】【以】【会】【说】【之】【前】【的】【话】，【只】【是】【想】【会】【有】【几】【个】【良】【知】【未】【泯】【的】【人】【族】【会】【做】【出】【正】【确】【的】【选】【择】，【而】【自】【己】【留】【他】【们】【一】【名】【只】【是】【想】【问】【出】【跨】【界】【的】【办】【法】。 【星】【辰】【一】【挥】【手】
“【那】【么】【是】【我】【们】【公】【司】【的】【人】【服】【务】【不】【到】【位】【吗】？”【林】【宜】【融】【冷】【汗】【下】【来】【了】，【生】【怕】【安】【筱】【若】【是】【来】【找】【麻】【烦】【的】【雇】【主】。 “【不】【是】，【你】【们】【公】【司】【的】【人】【素】【质】【很】【好】，【我】【来】【时】【有】【别】【的】【事】。” 【林】【宜】【融】【这】【才】【稍】【微】【松】【口】【气】，“【那】【就】【好】，【请】【说】【吧】。” “【先】【认】【识】【一】【下】，【我】【姓】【蒋】，【蒋】【耀】【玲】。【是】【华】【泰】【地】【产】【开】【发】【公】【司】【楚】【执】【成】【的】【未】【婚】【妻】。”【将】【楚】【执】【成】【抬】【出】【来】，【是】【为】【了】【让】
“【就】【是】【你】【说】【的】【那】【个】【排】【名】【第】【六】【的】【势】【力】？”【丘】【少】【鸣】【问】【道】。 【酒】【鬼】【小】【鸡】【啄】【米】【般】【的】【点】【头】，【苦】【着】【脸】【说】【道】：“【老】【大】，【就】【是】【他】【们】。” “【那】【去】【看】【看】！” 【虽】【然】【个】【人】【不】【能】【强】【闯】，【但】【根】【据】【系】【统】【的】【设】【定】，【却】【可】【以】【利】【用】【势】【力】【之】【间】【的】【战】【争】【进】【行】【毁】【坏】，【惹】【恼】【了】【紫】【荒】【谷】，【丘】【少】【鸣】【绝】【对】【不】【怀】【疑】【他】【们】【会】【将】‘【六】【扇】【门】’【踩】【烂】。 【浩】【浩】【荡】【荡】，【数】【千】【金】【光】【神】
【翌】【年】6【月】【初】【一】，【李】【如】【龙】【亲】【临】【燕】【地】。 【李】【如】【龙】【在】【燕】【山】【接】【纳】【故】【燕】【宗】【室】【公】【孙】【铎】【等】【人】【的】“【民】【意】”，【继】【承】【燕】【统】，【同】【时】【坚】【辞】【帝】【号】，【设】【坛】【封】【禅】，【称】【大】【王】，【改】【国】【号】【为】【大】【魏】，【并】【派】【遣】【燕】【国】【宗】【室】【公】【孙】【闽】【南】【下】，【成】【功】【说】【服】【东】【海】【水】【师】【反】【正】。 【燕】【山】【封】【禅】【后】，【李】【如】【龙】【典】【封】【群】【臣】【百】【官】，【对】【东】【征】【扶】【桑】【有】【功】【的】【新】【军】【功】【派】【大】【加】【褒】【奖】，【并】【挑】【选】【出】【一】【批】【精】【锐】【部】【队】