I walk up the damp, green moss, quiet, trail. Morning, dog by my side. I look at her and am glad today is walk day. My mind is calm at this moment. I see a black widow crawl away, I call her Ruby: mysterious, elegant legs, a large, sturdy frame, and a serious face. She makes her escape, down a hand spun creation, not present one second ago. I am in awe. My heart beats a little quicker as I head up the path, walking by menacing, bare poison oak vines that have been transformed into a palette of thick and thin lines, damp air between, sun shining through the cold, foggy, misty, November dawn. I feel like I am walking through another world, in my peripheral vision I see a meticulous web, so perfect I question ever making another thing when something already exists that surpasses all beauty and innovation that the world has ever or will ever display anywhere ever again. The otherworldness, the quiet places it takes my mind. I see one after another, just as special, just as intimidating. The quiet ground, damp with decay and new life. The Bay trees with their bright green trunks. Just me and Billy the whole walk. Like the perfect paint splatters on my studio wall. Or the painting Jack made last night that I want to frame and save forever. (Which really is not that long) Deep breath. I’ve been practicing my deep breaths. It’s been essential to keep myself from crossing my psychological health boundary; the one that keeps me here and not living with the spiders. From not imaging the creepy little walk they do down my neck, or having them enter my mind as I’m sound asleep, unable to defend myself. I take deep breaths.